Icy Blue
by hoppnhorn
Summary: Post Movie: Sequel to Mirror Image. Mark lives surrounded by a family that harbors a secret which could change him forever. Rated M for Sex, Language, Violence, and other bad stuff.
1. Prologue

**Icy Blue: Special Edition commences! Told myself I was going to go back and rewrite this before I finished it, so here I go! This chapter is almost entirely new, no joke. I took out most of what I'd written and just started from scratch. The gist remains the same, for all you who've read it before. But it's not as bad. [Hopefully it's not bad at all] LOL. If you haven't read this before, thank god. And thank you! :D Enjoy. **

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><p>In the dark, there was only a small patch of moonlight. Through an open window, it streaked across the floor, gliding up the side of the bed. From that small glimmer of light, Scout could see Chris' face. His lips parted, his expression frozen in concentration. She loved watching him, touching his mouth as he moved. When her husband was suspended above her, he was breathtaking. Scout smiled at him, burying her fingers in his shaggy hair. His eyes closed for a moment and he let out a guttural moan.<p>

"Shhhh." She whispered, holding in a giggle. Ducking his head, Chris grinned, kissing her lightly on the lips. Then, with a deliberately abrupt curl of his spin, he brought her body to the brink of ecstasy. Scout gasped, her laughter gone as he took command of her senses. The sex had been slow and gentle, enjoyable on fronts. But only Chris could shift the tide in a single movement. Her breath came crashing out of her lungs, blood rushing to her cheeks in a frenzied wave of sensation. Now he was the one grinning, panting down at her in the moonlight.

"You're mean." She whined softly, her hands abandoning his hair to tug on his neck. His laugh was quiet, but it vibrated through his chest.

"I know." The teasing grin slowly slipped away from his concentrated face, his mouth hanging open as he sped up, arms flexing on either side of her head. Each stroke of him brought her higher and Scout shook under him, biting her bottom lip to hold in the moans. Her body climbed the familiar road to climax, her legs coiling until her knees were up to Chris' ribs. And he read the signs like a master, knowing all too well how to drive her over the edge. She grabbed handfuls of the pillows above her head, hanging on as he thrust harder. This was a perfected dance between them. They chased mutual climax together, eyes open, breaths heavy, and bodies trembling.

And when Scout felt Chris' breath slam from his lungs, she arched her back and followed him over the edge. His mouth fell to her neck and he groaned in short, stuttered exhales, hiding the sound in her skin as she bit her lips, eyes shut tight. It was a battle to not cry out. A sweet, aching battle. But they road the high together, twitching and gasping for air until the burn of pleasure subsided.

Then Chris rested, dropping to his elbows so he could wrap his arms around his wife's head. Kissing his shoulder, she traced lines over his bare spine, smiling at his exhausted pants.

They were always this good.

"Love you." Chris whispered, his mouth leaving lazy kisses over her neck. Scout whispered the words back in his ear and they slowly drifted away, the cool night air lifting the heat from their bodies.

A shrill ring pierced the room and they nearly knocked heads as they jumped, startled.

"Dear god." Scout murmured. Clutching her heart as Chris groaned, slipping from her body to reach for the phone. He sighed and plucked the handset from the cradle.

"Hello?" He grunted, his irritation slurred by his exhaustion. How long had they dozed? Scout retrieved her underwear from inside the sheets, sliding them up her legs as Chris messed his hair. Sitting up beside him, she let her eyes wander. His butt was naked and exposed, the sheet falling just below the firm cheeks. It was enough to tempt her again. "How did you get this number?" He suddenly growled. Her thoughts of round two with her husband vanished at the tone of his voice. Frowning at the back of his head, she fidgeted with her t-shirt. "You've got some nerve callin' us here."

"Who is it?" She hissed, leaning down to kiss his shoulder. Chris shook his head.

"I don't care. Last I heard from ya, my jaw was achin' and your sister was gettin' tossed on the street." Scout shot forward over his body, grabbing at the phone. Rolling over, he dodged her, sitting upright to hold her off.

"Give me the phone! Chris!" She hissed, tears mysteriously forming in the corners of her eyes. Her family. It had to be one of her brothers. But Chris hated them. Ever since the day they'd thrown her out like a stranger, he'd loathed them.

"Why?" He grunted, holding the phone to his shoulder as she tried to reach it. The tears filled the bottom of her eyes and started to fall from the corners. Her heart ached, pleading to hear the sound of their voices. She'd missed them terribly.

"Please, it's my family." Sitting back on her heels, she fought off the crying voice that teetered on the back of her throat. Chris softened and ground his back teeth. Despite his hatred for her brothers, Chris loved her. Loved her too much to make her cry. With a grunt and a stiff arm, he held out the phone, bolting from the bed the moment it was in her hand. He was pretty angry. Stomping around their bedroom, he found his boxers on the floor and shoved them up his legs to huff out of the room. She didn't want him to go, but she wasn't going to stop him. Listening to the frantic drumming of her heart, Scout sat down on the bed, hesitantly raising the phone to her ear.

"Hello?" There was a wheeze of an exhale.

"Hey Scout." Drew. His voice was weak and sad, but it was him. She'd forgotten their voices and the sound of her older brother on the telephone broke her heart. It was like hearing an old song, the warmth of his voice wrapping around her. She had missed them so much.

"Drew." She breathed, wiping her tears furiously. "Ya called." The cracking in her tone got worse as she spoke, her chest stuttering with muted sobs. This was a gift and a torture.

"I'm sorry. I wanted to call sooner but…" Drew sighed and she heard his pain. The day she'd left, he had looked at her through a screen door and apologized. She'd begged and he'd flinched, retreating with agony in his eyes. Drew was the kind one, the loving brother who wanted everyone happy. The years they'd been apart had probably hurt him too. But not as much as it had hurt her.

"I've missed ya, Drew." Scout whimpered softly, hugging her knees to her chest. What she wanted to say was that she loved him. She wanted to hug him, squeeze him in her arms until she couldn't breathe. How had she taken them for granted all those years ago? They meant the world to her now. As she started to unravel, Chris walked back into the bedroom. Seeing her curled up in the bed, his furious expression vanished and he was by her side in seconds, crawling over the bed to wrap his arms around her waist. Her husband, her rock. Pulling her back into his chest, he was her shelter, absorbing the stifled cries that wracked her body.

"I've missed ya too, S." Her brother sounded equally pained, his strong bass cracking ever so slightly over the line. The tears on her cheeks burned, dripping to her neck and t-shirt. Chris swiped a few away, planting soft kisses into her temple. Closing her eyes, she leant into him. God, this was hard.

"S, something happened." Drew's hesitation stung her chest like a punch. Sadness turned to fear in an instant. Sitting up, Scout's heart plunged into her stomach.

"What?" She whispered. Chris raised his head, frowning. "What happened? Is Donnie ok, is Vin—" She flurried into a panic, air refusing to fill her lungs. The tears tripled, blinding her as she considered the worst scenarios.

"Hey hey. Everyone's fine." Drew cooed. Gulping a breath, relief sagged her back into Chris' arms. "But there was this shooting, nearby. It's been all over the papers…really weird story…it was a fuckin' massacre—"

"What shooting? What happened?" She cut him off before her heart exploded in anticipation. Why would Drew be calling about a shooting? Chris squinted, tilting his head to look at her.

"Shooting?" He whispered. Scout held his hand, curling her fingers around his longs ones.

"The Darleys are dead." Drew cut in, his words short and stiff. Then there was nothing. Just silence. Scout felt her throat close and she slapped a hand over her mouth.

"Oh my god." She whispered. _Baldy. _She hadn't thought about him in a long time, happy to forget her encounter with the Southie drug lord. He'd been her undoing.

"Mommy?" Jolting her from shock, a small shadow moved into the room. Hands curled into little fists, her son rubbed his eyes, yawning as he traipsed into view. Mark. Her baby boy. Chris released Scout in a fluid motion, jumping from the bed to scoop Mark up before he'd gotten far.

"Mommy's on the phone." Chris whispered, pressing a finger to his lips. The little boy nodded in understanding, wrapping his arms around Chris' neck. Turning from the room, Chris carried Mark back to his bedroom. Scout's heart sank as she looked into her son's blue eyes before he vanished into the hall.

"Scout?" Drew asked. She remembered the phone in her hand.

"I'm here."

"I want you to come back." He got right to the point. "The Darleys are gone. We own Southie. No more truces or anything. Vin's got everything running smoothly and I…" Drew stumbled on the last word, hesitating before he continued. "…we miss you."

Scout wanted to be happy. Truly, she did. But she felt betrayed. Her own family had cast her out, forced her from town. All because she'd been rebellious, unwilling to tame her fiery temper. She'd been hard on her controlling brothers and ultimately Vincent had had enough. He'd broken all ties with her, forgetting his role of brother in favor of his role as boss. Her family had abandoned her, betrayed her. It seemed just at the time but now, with a child of her own, she knew they'd broken a vow.

Family loves unconditionally. Always.

Her family had left her alone.

"That's not fair." She murmured.

"I know it's not—"

"Vin chucked me out like garbage." She could see Drew flinching. Good. It was the truth and she wasn't going to forget it easily.

"Scout, I'm so sorry." Her tears started again, but her anger held her voice steady.

"Six years, Drew. I've waited six years." Her chest felt like it was bleeding, pain radiating from her heart down deep.

"I know—"

"And now ya call? Just, 'hey sis, we miss you? Why don't you come home?'" Anger flushed her face. Gritting her teeth, she held in a scream of frustration. She was dwelling, making it harder on herself. All those years, scraping money together, terrified of failure, with a baby depending on her. A shudder of pain swept through her as she remembered her swollen belly. No doctor. No home. Just her rage and fear to keep her going.

"I know it's not. But we want to make it right."

She bit back juvenile retorts. There was no taking back what they'd put her through. If she hadn't had Chris…Scout shook her head to push the thought away. She couldn't go there.

"Vin regrets everythin'. Beats himself up over it all the time." Scout pulled her knees up to her chin, letting her head fall to her knees. She could have killed Vincent the day she'd found out she was pregnant. She wasn't sure if she could ever see him again. Her anger was too deep. Too raw. "I can't say that bothers me." She murmured into the phone. Truthfully, it pleased her that he had suffered, even if it was a little.

"You should have seen 'im at Christmas…" Drew sighed, as if the memory was too much to recall. "He's just too proud to admit how much he needs ya, S."

"So now I'm just supposed to come home and we all act like nothing happened?" She hissed bitterly. Drew sighed again.

"No, we were just wantin' ta see ya. Ya don't have to move back." Scout took a long breath and let it go slowly, calming the churning in her stomach. Six years ago, she would have jumped on the first bus to Boston. Now, she was hesitating.

First, she had her own life now. A job. A home. A husband. Chris appeared, leaning in the doorway, boxers low on his hips, elbow propped above his head on the frame. Scout held out a hand for him and he crossed the room silently, pulling her into his arms once again.

Chris wouldn't want to go back. He'd gotten a decent job as a mechanic at a body shop in town. He had friends here. Good people.

"We're happy here." Scout said quietly. Pennsylvania wasn't glamorous but it was home. Chris sighed into the curve of her neck, squeezing her gently. "My son is happy here."

Drew was silent and Chris went rigid. Everything was waiting. Even Scout's heart seemed to stop.

"Ya got a kid?" Her brother finally asked. Smiling a little, Scout nodded.

"Mark." Drew chuckled and she knew he'd be grinning, maybe even tearing up. Their oldest brother Mark had been their leader, their father. When he'd died, everything had changed. And they'd all missed him, even Chris, torn at the seams by his sudden and violent death. Now, her eldest brother's memory would live on, with her son.

"That's great, Scout." Drew murmured, his goofy smile evident in his voice. She laughed softly, forgetting the anger she'd felt minutes ago. "How old is he?"

"He'll be six in two weeks."

"Wow." Drew laughed a little louder. "Wow." Chris hugged Scout and kissed what remained of her tears. He knew how much this meant to her, telling her brother about his nephew. "Scout …we'd love to see you guys."

"Yeah." Her tone was noncommittal, restrained.

"I miss ya." Drew was back a soft, sad tone. His voice was sincere, pulling on her heart.

"I miss you too." It took a lot of control to hold back more tears. But she was determined to remain steady. He didn't need to hear how weak he was making her, how close she was to running back to them. "But Chris has a say too, ya know." Her husband reacted with a low growl, his disapproval vibrating against her spine.

"He'd let ya visit. That guy loves ya."

"Don't underestimate how much he hates Vin." Scout warned. Chris grinned against her shoulder, wrapping her tighter in his arms. He hated Vincent all right. If anything had happened to her, especially during the precarious time of her pregnancy, he would have charged into Boston, ready to die. Ready to go down, but not without taking Vincent with him. Thankfully it had never come to that. "We'll have to talk about it." She added curtly.

"Sure." Drew couldn't hide his disappointment. He wanted her to commit, right then and there over the phone.

"I'll let you know." She finally whispered. "I've got your number."

"Bye Scout."

Before she gave into his sad, heartbroken goodbye, she hung up. Dropping the handset on the sheets, she stared at it as Chris squeezed her a little and waited, leaning against her back. His legs were crossed under her and his arms were locked around her ribs, enveloping her in his warmth. When she could think again, she slid back, dropping her head into his neck.

"The Darleys are dead." She whispered, staring blankly in front of her. Chris' head jerked up from her shoulder.

"What?"

"Somebody killed them all." Her voice was flat, monotone.

"Christ." Christ whispered the word softly, lowering his lips to her shoulder. They were still again, the words echoing in Scout's head while the room blared on in silence.

Seven years ago, she couldn't have cared less about the Darleys. To her, they were just another crime family in Southie. Another name that got tossed around on the news. Another gang to avoid on the outskirts of town. If they'd died back then, she wouldn't have cared. Business as usual.

But that was before she'd met Billy Darley.

Her heart panged mysteriously when she thought of him. His strong face, wide shoulders, piercing blue eyes. She had to close her own, shaken by the clarity. Where as she'd forgotten her brother's voices, she remembered Billy's. She remembered everything about him. His cologne, the smell of his leather jacket, the brand of cigarette he smoked. After years of ignoring those memories, they came back stronger than ever, haunting her like ghosts.

She could remember his taste. The sweet, dark taste of his mouth. Her body shuddered and Chris looked up at her.

"You okay?" Scout nodded, covering his arms with her own.

"I just can't believe it." Chris kissed her hair as she leant into his throat. Taking a long inhale, she melted. Chris smelled like soap, sheets, and her. She smiled a little, looking at their modest, matching wedding bands. She had marked him as he had marked her.

"Always figured he'd just end up in prison, rottin' like the rest of 'em." Chris sounded dismissive, grumbling over her head. Scout let the comment hang, fading away into the quiet room. She let him hate Billy. It was the least she could do. It was only fair.

Years ago, when she'd seen the faint, pink line on the pregnancy test, she'd made a decision. She'd told Chris the truth.

And he'd been crushed. She winced in his arms as she thought about his defeated face, his furious tears. He'd thrown things, screamed, and then collapsed on their motel room floor. Scout had been terrified, shaking in the bathroom as she clung to the little while stick. A little speck of life now rested in her hands. And her heart had been in Chris'.

So when he'd picked himself up off the floor, taken her into his arms, and forgiven her, she'd forgotten all about Billy Darley. Her world was all Chris.

But that hadn't dulled the pain when Mark was born. As he'd stared up at her loving, forgiving Chris with bright, stunning blue eyes, it had been obvious Billy Darley was Mark's biological father. Yet Chris had still loved him. Even through his disappointment, he'd loved Mark. Mark was his son.

And that was the end.

"So it's just over?" Chris asked, breaking the long silence between them. Scout nodded, rubbing her fingers over his hands.

"Drew said Vincent owns Southie." She murmured. Chris sighed deeply.

"Jeez."

"He said we could come back." She nervously played with Chris' fingers, tracing the knuckles and nails.

"Go back to live?" He sounded disgusted, stiffening against her back. The last thing she wanted to do was make him angry, so she shrugged, falling silent. With one hand, Chris turned her face and stared into her grey eyes. "Go back to Boston?"

"Mark would have uncles, family." Chris scoffed and released her, flopping back on the bed. He ran his palms over his face.

"We** are** a family." Scout didn't answer. He was right. Half of her heart said to drop it, to forget about Boston and never think of it again. But deep down, she knew she would regret it. Boston was home. It had been for years, for both of them. Turning around on the bed, she stared down at Chris. His bare chest rose and fell with each breath, his belly filling and sinking under his ribs.

"This is a hard thing to ask, I know." Chris sighed and stared up at her. Weaving his fingers behind his head, he ground his teeth.

"We go back there and we go back to that life. Drugs. Sex. Guns." Scout turned her body and lay on top of him, brushing his hair from his forehead.

"You're wrong. We could live a good life there. Just as good as here." Chris snorted and glared at the ceiling. Her head was saying everything his face was. Her brother's didn't deserve to have them back. They should rot for pushing her away. They didn't deserve to know Mark.

"That wouldn't last long. We'd be back in the family business in no time."

"I won't let that happen." She swore, holding his face in both of her hands. But Chris turned his head away, setting his jaw. The anger he felt was rolling off in waves. Scout could tell he wanted to rip up the room, yell, or fight. Scout smoothed a hand over his cheek, gently tilting him back to plant a kiss on his chin. "Chris." He reluctantly looked at her. "I promise." His jaw didn't relax. Nothing gave. "For Mark, I promise." His gaze lightened and he sighed.

"This is a bad idea." He mumbled, lifting her off as he attempted to rise from the bed. Scout didn't let him. With her surprising strength, she shoved him back, crossing her arms over his broad chest.

"You're probably right." She whispered, staring into his eyes. Then, brushing her fingertips through the crown of his hair, she kissed his stomach. "But Boston is a part of us." He blinked and said nothing. "Nothing will ever feel like Boston." Chris' ribs rose with a large breath then fell with a hard sigh.

"Home." He breathed. Her body shivered at the word. No matter how hard they tried to fight it, how many friends they made, Boston was the only home they would ever have. Everything else was just a bittersweet attempt.

"Let's go home." She whispered, stroking his jaw. Chris closed his eyes and swallowed.

"Home."


	2. Chapter 1

**Icy Blue: Special Edition, The excitement continues! Beefed this up a little. It was a little thin. Keep in mind there is a time skip, although that should be pretty obvious. Enjoy. :)**

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><p>"Can I please go in?"<p>

Mark watched his uncle stare at him, an eyebrow rising on the man's face. It almost seemed to say, _Are you kidding?_

"Hell the fuck no." His uncle shook his head. "Hell no." The repeated words were almost laughed. Mark scoffed in disgust.

"Come on Uncle D, I'm not a kid anymore." His uncle snorted and took a last drag from the butt between his lips.

"Coulda fooled me. How old are ya again?" Mark made a face.

"Old enough, ya jerk." Donnie laughed, stubbing the smoke out in an ashtray.

"No ya not. You're stayin' here." The man straightened his collar, a hand sliding into the back of his jacket. Mark was no fool, he knew what was resting in the small of his uncle's back.

"I'd just stand behind ya. I wouldn't even talk." He eyed the house they'd parked in front of, wondering how long it had been since someone had lived there. Judging by the looks of things, a while.

"Your mom would fuckin' kill me." Donnie shook his head, taking the keys from the ignition. "You're not supposed to even be in this goddamn car. That's breaking, like, ten of her stupid rules alone." Mark sighed and flopped back against his seat. His mom and her stupid rules. All so he couldn't have any fun. At least, that's how it felt. He wasn't allowed to do anything. And his uncles couldn't take him anywhere "work" related. His mom always called it work. Mark called it what it was, dealing.

His uncle reached around in the middle compartment, retrieving a brown bag.

"I'm fifteen years old! Screw her rules!" Mark protested, trying his best to not whine. Whining only proved his uncle's point. Donnie rummaged through the bag for a moment, tucking something into his jacket away from Mark's view.

"Watch ya fuckin' mouth." His uncle grumbled, looking at him one last time. "Your mother loves ya."

"I'm not a baby." Mark grunted, hoping to persuade with a fierce glare. His mom called it his best weapon. Sometimes he could convince her with just the right look. Donnie, however, wasn't so swayed.

"And I'm in charge. Stay here or else." Without another word, Donnie slammed the car door and walked toward the old house. Mark crossed his arms and ground his teeth.

"Or else what? Ya gonna pinch me? Fuckin' bullshit." He muttered, watching his uncle step around the side yard, looking quickly around the neighborhood. Mark pulled down the overhead mirror and glared at it.

His hair was still very short after his mother had insisted on cutting it, taking off his shaggy mane. He'd held out on the haircut as long as possible, but he actually liked the shorter look. Its normally medium brown hue looked very dark against his pale face. And that darker hair further highlighted his eyes. Light blue with flecks of steely grey.

He groaned and slapped the mirror back, slouching further in his seat. He'd been excited when Donnie had agreed to let him tag along for the afternoon; his mother was working and his dad was pulling a second shift. Now, he was just bored, sitting in the car while his uncle stopped all over town. To make matters worse, the CD player inside the car didn't work.

"This is garbage." Mark mumbled, clunking his forehead against the window. After a moment, he rolled his head, looking through the driver's side window. The old house was chipping badly and the top floor windows were broken, shutters missing or hanging dangerously from a lone screw. Mark knew that it was a crack house; he wasn't stupid. The family business wasn't a huge secret to him; you had to be blind, deaf, and stupid to not know about it. If he wasn't hearing it around the table at his uncles' house, he was hearing about it at school. His mom had done her best to shelter him, but the inevitable had happened when he was in sixth grade. Ever since, there'd been no use in shielding him from reality. In his uncles' eyes anyway. His mother still played dumb, shooting deadly glares at his uncles when they let things slip in front of her.

Mark grinned. His mother would slap him senseless if she knew he was this close to a deal. He could see the color draining out of her face and his dad rubbing his palms over his eyes, waiting for the bomb to go off. _"Scout…"_ He'd say. _"Easy now…"_ His dad was the only person on earth who could rein his lunatic mother in. Her son drove her nuts, her husband made her calm.

As he sat, envisioning his mother combusting on the living room rug, a sound pierced the neighborhood, making Mark jump in his seat.

"What the fuck?" He murmured to himself, shifting around in the seat to look all around the car. Nothing had moved. The night continued on, uninterrupted, aside from a dog barking its head off in the distance. But Mark knew what he'd heard. Granted, he'd never shot a gun before, but he knew what a gunshot sounded like.

And his uncle wasn't running back to the car.

Hands shaking, Mark fought the fear clawing at his chest. He needed to go find Donnie. His brain told him his uncle was the one with the gun, he wouldn't be the victim. But his instinct told him to leave the car anyway. He needed to find his uncle.

Closing his eyes for a moment, he took a breath, thinking about Donnie's words. _Stay here, or else._ With a bolt of movement, Mark threw open his door and ran around the car, ducking low to the ground. When nothing attacked him, no other shots rang out, he took off running. He ran like a lion was on his tail, nipping at his heels.

Sprinting around the side of the house, he hid behind an old armchair. All kinds of things were strewn around the yard. Everything from furniture to appliances, tossed out onto the dead grass, like the house had vomited its contents. Panting from the adrenaline, Mark shot to the back entrance, ducking low as he peeled back the old screen door.

Body primed for action, he slipped silently into a dirty kitchen.

"YOU'RE A FUCKIN' COP. ADMIT IT!" Mark froze, mid-crawl, and clamped his eyes shut, heart hammering in his ribs as the voice ripped through the house. It was panicked, the screams cracking with emotion. After a beat of silence, he inched forward, his own breathing filling his ears. He was counting the beats of his heart, carefully sidestepping pieces of broken tile. Everything was caked in dirt, the floor ruined from the weather sweeping inside the flimsy screen. The wooden cabinets were rotting, letting off a stench that made Mark's nose wrinkle.

"Put the gun down, Sammy. Ya know me. You're just confused." His uncle's voice was pained and weak, barely audible from where he crouched. Mark picked up the pace, following the sounds and praying he wasn't too late.

Rounding a corner, he turned into what had used to be a back den. From what he could see, the area was very dark, the windows boarded up from the inside, blocking any kind of light. Brown paper covered the floor, footprints and mud smeared everywhere. Staying low and hiding just outside the doorway, Mark swallowed his heart and peeked inside the dark room. Eyes adjusting to the black, he had to squint.

"Ya came here to kill me!" A voice shrieked and Mark shrunk back from the opening, chest heaving in fear.

"No, Sam. No." His uncle sounded like he was whispering, his voice coming in bursts of air. Gathering his courage, Mark took a deep breath. He was terrified. But what terrified him more was the idea of watching his uncle die. There wasn't time for hiding if he was going to do something.

"Don't lie ta me. I can HEAR YOUR THOUGHTS!" Mark stuck his head around the corner again, blinking into the dark with renewed conviction.

A man in ratty jeans and an old undershirt was standing in the middle of the room over a body. His lanky legs bounced as he paced back and forth, pressing the flat of the gun to his temple and running his dirty hands through his short, scraggly hair. Mark looked at the figure on the floor, containing a shout of fear. His uncle was sprawled on his back, pressing both of his hands into his side. Donnie was grimacing in pain, his face pale and forehead covered in sweat.

"Christ Sammy, it's me, Donnie Burnes. I wouldn't kill ya and I'm not a fuckin—"

"SHUT UP!" The man screamed, shaking the gun wildly in his hand. "YOU'RE GONNA TRICK ME!" Mark couldn't breathe. If he didn't move, Donnie was going to get shot. His hand flew to his pants, digging in his pocket until he found his knife. It was short thing, but it was sharp. His uncle Drew had shown him how to sharpen it, telling him there was always a need for a sharp knife. Until that moment, crouched in the hall, he hadn't understood.

"Sammy, I aint gonna trick you. I'm here ta sell to ya. Remember? Ya called me—" Sammy clicked the hammer back on the gun and Mark flicked open the knife, holding in a deep breath. Don't think, just do it. Don't think.

"I CALLED DONNIE BURNES! NOT YOU PIG!" As the man pointed the gun at Donnie's face, his uncle dropped his head back to the floor, closing his eyes in defeat. Commanding his legs forward, Mark stood up and forced himself into the room.

"Let him go!" He yelled, hoping to sound more threatening than he felt. His arm was shaking, his hold on the knife making his knuckles white. Donnie's head shot up and his face fell when he saw his nephew standing across the room. The boy held the knife in front of him, glaring like he held a gun of his own. But he had brought a knife to a gun show. He was a sitting duck.

"GET OUT OF HERE!" Donnie screamed, kicking the brown paper at his feet as if to shoo Mark from the room. But Mark didn't move and Sammy turned his weapon on the kid, his aim shifty as he stared.

"This your backup, cop?" Squirming furiously, Donnie moved for Sammy and kicked, just as the tweaker pulled the trigger.

The gun went off as Sammy fell, his feet brought out from under him by Donnie's leg. Mark didn't know where the bullet ended up, but he felt the breeze kiss his arm. Covering his head and falling to his knees, he screamed a curse, shaking wildly as he felt death slip past him.

"GET THE FUCK OUT MARK!" Donnie screamed again, bringing his left fist down on Sammy's head. Despite the growing stain on his shirt, Donnie slammed his fist down on Sammy's body over and over, trying to hold him back before he could stand. His attack was desperate, and fast, but he was weakening quickly, the blood on his side flowing faster through his right hand. Ignoring his uncle's command, Mark fell to the floor and crawled toward the action.

"No!" He grunted, training his knife on Sammy again. The thin man was no match for Donnie Burnes, even an injured Donnie Burnes. Mark's blade was at the junkie's throat in a matter of seconds.

"Drop the gun!" Mark hissed, his whole body shaking. Sammy stared up at him, mouth open in disbelief. Then his hands went slack and the gun fell to the floor. His eyes were wide as he gazed at the boy hovering over him.

"Billy?" He wheezed the name like a frightened curse. Mark frowned down at him, his grip loosening in confusion. But before he could ask anything, Donnie lurched forward, smashing a fist down in Sammy's face. And just like that, Sammy was out of the floor, his head lulling to the side. Donnie panted and collapsed in a heap, cradling his side.

"Fuck." His voice sounded like hoarse and airy, the life draining from him. Blood was blooming in a wide pattern on his shirt, the material soaked until it nearly looked black. And for a moment, Mark forgot about the unconscious man under him and ran to his uncle.

"Oh shit, Uncle Don. What do I—? Oh god." The dark liquid was smeared all over Donnie's hands and the man grunted in pain when Mark tried to touch him.

"I told you to stay in the car." His uncle whispered. The boy set his face.

"And let you die in here?" Resolved, Mark put his hands on Donnie's side, trying to stop the flow. His uncle let out a cry and squirmed, his legs writhing back and forth.

"If this bullet doesn't kill me—fuck—your mother will." Mark snorted and put a hand under Donnie's shoulder.

"Who says she'll find out?" He pulled and his uncle let out a howl as he stood. Donnie's face was a pasty white, the sweat dripping down his temples. Mark knew he was in a lot more pain than a few yells worth. But his uncle was a hard man, unwilling to go out whining.

"Jesus Christ, kid. Ya don't know her very well." He wheezed. Mark laughed and took Donnie's weight on his shoulders, turning them to the door. His uncle grunted and walked slowly with his nephew's support.

"Wait, don't forget my gun. Fucker grabbed it when I wasn't lookin'. Jumped me like a fuckin'—" Mark turned to grab for the gun, leaving Donnie leaning against the doorway. But he didn't move far. Mark froze in fear as he turned, coming face to face with the barrel of his uncle's gun.

Sammy's hand shook as he aimed between Mark's eyes. But the gun slowly slid away, training on Donnie instead.

"I'm gonna put ya in the ground, ya son of a bitch." He muttered, pointing the gun at his uncle's head. Without hesitation, Mark dove.

The gun went off. Mark's body slammed into Sammy's. Donnie yelled. Mark's ears rang. And Sammy let out a scream.

Then there was silence. Eyes clamped shut, Mark focused on the air moving in and out of his lungs. He was alive. But the mass beneath him wasn't moving. Opening his eyes slowly, he stared down. Sammy's eyes were unfocused and unseeing as they gazed over Mark's shoulder.

Something warm slid between Mark's fingers and he moved his hand. His fingers ached, the knuckles white. Looking down, he realized he was gripping his knife.

And the knife was buried in the junkie's armpit.

There was blood all over his hand, wetting the skin up to his wrist. It was slippery and thick, warm like soup. It didn't seem real. His knife felt solid in his hand, his knees hurt from tackling Sammy, but he wasn't convinced. It felt like he was in a nightmare, waiting for the fear to bolt him from sleep.

Instead Donnie's hand appeared on his shoulder, startling him so badly he withdrew the blade from the body to point it at his uncle.

"Whoa. Whoa, kid it's okay." Mark was trembling from head to toe, his stomach clenching in fear. He swallowed repeatedly, fighting back the urge to vomit on his uncle's shoes. Donnie held up a hand, the other pressed into his side. "Come on, bud. We gotta go." Mark slowly nodded, lowering his knife.

"Uncle D…" He didn't know what he was going to say. It was just something to say. Something to bring him back from the sea of numbness that surrounded him.

"It's okay, kid. Ya did good." His uncle patted his shoulder, slipping his hand down Mark's arm until he'd plucked the knife from his bloody hand. "Grab that gun and let's go home, okay?" Mark didn't move but continued to stare, moving his gaze between his hand and Sammy's body. "Mark." He met his uncle's eyes.

"Pick up the gun." The boy did as he was told, leaning over and twisting the weapon from the dead man's hand. As he handed it over to his uncle, Mark watched Donnie take a breath, wincing. He snapped out of the trance at the sight of the pain. He needed to help him. Standing swiftly, he took the man's weight and together they started out of the house.

As they crossed the yard, Donnie fished his keys from his jeans.

"Ya know how to drive?" He grunted. Mark shook his head slowly.

"Don't have a license." His uncle scoffed.

"Gotta learn sometime."


	3. Chapter 2

**I needed a break from Joesph and his drama! So I went to Mark and his! Enjoyyy. =)**

"Jesus Christ Donnie, what the hell were you thinkin'?" Drew had his brother on a first floor couch with his shirt cut open. Mark hovered in the hallway, unable to keep his eyes off the black and red wound that engulfed his uncle's side. Donnie looked up at the ceiling, swearing as Drew gently touched the hole.

"FUCK. Don't touch it, shit." Drew smacked his brother in the head.

"You idiot! Everyone knows Sammie was two clicks away from batshit insane. But you tried sellin' to him anyway?" Donnie swallowed and closed his eyes, his head tilted back on the sofa.

"He seemed fine on the phone." Drew smacked him again. Donnie winced and glared at his brother. "Hey!"

"Everyone sounds fine on the phone." Drew looked over at Mark and his face darkened. He landed another slap on the back of Donnie's head.

"AND YOU TOOK MARK!" Donnie tried to scoot away from Drew's reach but the movement evoked a cry of pain and he sunk back into the couch.

"I'm sorry." He mumbled. His eyes met Mark's and he repeated it. "I'm sorry, kid." Mark shook his head and entered the room, standing in the middle of the floor.

"I asked you to take me." Drew stood up and went up to Mark, pointing a finger at his chest.

"You don't go on deals. THAT'S THE RULE!" Mark flinched. Drew never yelled unless it was necessary. His uncle pointed at Donnie. "That idiot knows that and should have said no."

"I'm sorry, okay?" Donnie moaned, holding his side. Drew laughed and rubbed his hands over his face.

"Oh you aren't now. But you will be when Scout finds out." He laughed again. "Forgot Scout, when CHRIS finds out." Mark grimaced. His dad would be the angriest of them all. Scout enforced her brothers, but Chris was the driving force behind the rules.

His parents had given his uncles an ultimatum when he was just a kid: Mark doesn't get involved or they move. No errands, no deals, no nothing. His father wanted everything for Mark. He wanted him to get good grades, graduate high school, go to college, and get the hell out of this city. His dad wanted him out of this life.

"Drew?" A voice called from the front door. Both brother's straightened and Mark stepped to the sidewall. His uncle Vincent got the most respect in this family. He walked into the living room and immediately his face fell.

"What the hell happened!" He yelled, looking between his brothers. Donnie hissed in pain and Drew approached, spreading his hands. Before said anything, Vincent spotted Mark. His eyes darkened even further. "Mark, what are you doin' here?" The boy opened his mouth but Donnie beat him to the punch.

"He saved my life." Vincent looked Mark up and down.

"Come 'ere." He finally mumbled, reaching out with an arm. Mark stepped forward to his uncle's side and Vincent grasped the back of his neck, pulling him in to his shoulder. He spoke quietly into his ear.

"Go home." Mark nodded and his uncle released him. "You don't tell your mother anything." Mark nodded again. Vincent clapped him on the shoulder and looked in his eyes. "You're a good kid." He murmured. The phrase struck Mark and he blinked in surprise. Complements were rare from Vincent Burnes and he'd never really bonded with Mark. In fact, Vincent didn't even speak to Mark until he had been living down the block for over a year. His uncle patted him again, motioning to the door.

"Now get goin'. Your mom just got home." Mark nodded for a third time and glanced over at his other two uncles. Donnie had his head leaned back on the sofa and he was sweating from pain. Drew gave Mark a weak smile.

"Cya kid." Mark returned the smile and retreated into the hallway and out the front door.

As he made his way home, he thought about Sammie again. The man's frightened face when he'd loomed over him. The true horror he'd seen in the blood-shot eyes. Mark bounded up the front steps and slipped in the screen door.

"Mark?" His mother's voice was in the back of the house and he started towards the kitchen.

"Yeah?" He glanced down at his jeans and realized his hand was still bloody. His heart raced and he shoved it in a pocket, quickly giving himself a once over.

"Where've you been?" Mark stepped into the small kitchen and shrugged.

"Around." His mother had her hair in a ponytail, the length covering her shoulders. She was unloading groceries from brown paper bags and she stopped when he appeared.

"Yeah?" She asked, smiling. Mark returned the smile and went up to his mother and kissed her cheek. He was almost 5' 10" so he loomed over the shorter woman. "Have a good day?" Scout asked, patting his shoulder. He nodded and sat down in a kitchen chair.

"Pretty boring." He replied, stretching his legs under the table. She laughed and pulled more food from bags.

"Don't worry. You have school tomorrow." Mark rolled his eyes and Scout chuckled. She checked her phone and made a sound. "Speaking of which, you better hop in the shower and get to bed."

"It's only nine!" Mark groaned, letting his arms fall limply off the arms of the chair. His mother made a face.

"And school starts at seven. You need all the sleep you can get." She walked over to him and made a kissy face, pinching his cheeks. "My widdle baby need aww da sweep he can get so he gwow up big and swong." Mark couldn't help but laugh. Even his mother, the toughest woman in the city, was susceptible to baby talk.

"Stop." He whined, pushing her hands away. Scout laughed and messed his hair.

"Get goin'. Your filthy father is gonna want a shower when he gets back." She sighed and went over to her groceries. "If he ever gets back." Mark rolled his eyes and stood.

"Fine." He mumbled, walking back down the hall to the stairs. He stopped suddenly and poked his head back into the kitchen.

"Hey ma?"

"Yeah?"

"You know anyone named Billy?" The name made her freeze like a statue. Mark raised an eyebrow but his mother starting moving again. She turned, holding a can of vegetables in each hand.

"Umm, I think there was a Bob that used to work down at the docks." He nodded and watched her face. She shrugged and shook her head. "Don't think I remember a Billy. Why?" Mark mirrored her shrug and wandered back towards the stairs.

"Nothin'."

**Wahahahhah. Sorry it's so short. Gotta drive home so I've got nooo time. Love you lots my darlings! **


	4. Chapter 3

**UGH enough serious! Time for an escape…..which means smut. ;) Enjoy.**

Scout felt a familiar need crawl up her spine when she heard Chris start the shower. She'd been lying in bed for over two hours, staring at the ceiling while she drifted in and out of sleep. She rolled over to look at the alarm clock that glowed in the dark. It read "4:30" and Scout groaned. It was always so late. She climbed out of bed and checked herself in the mirror. Better late then never. She laughed at the thought. Never wasn't an option, not for her.

Chris was sitting on top of the toilet lid, resting his head in his hands. His arms were smeared with assorted things, mostly oil, and it made his skin starkly dark against his white undershirt. His fingers were weaved in his shaggy brown hair, his hands by far the dirtiest part of him. Jeans were discarded on the floor along with black boots and socks. Scout grinned at the sight; she had him just where she wanted him.

"Hey baby." She cooed, stepping on her toes into the master bathroom. Chris looked up and she swooned at his tanned face and light stubble. His eyes were tired so Scout cranked up her grin and locked the door behind her. There wasn't a chance Mark could still be awake and they'd become extremely good at hiding their escapades, but she still took the precaution.

"Hey yourself." Chris said, giving her a weak smile. Scout pouted and stood in front of him, reaching out to run her hands through his hair.

"Is somebody tired?" She asked, pushing his head back and revealing his delicious neck muscles. She shivered; he made her crazy every time she saw him. Chris laughed softly through his nose and Scout leaned over him, kissing him lustfully. He put his hands on her hips and she stood back, pulling her shirt over her head. She had on a simple black bra; she'd planned this to a T.

"Oh man." Chris chuckled, running his hands over her flat stomach. Scout laughed deep in her throat and straddled him, finding her favorite spot under his jaw with her lips. He sighed and rubbed her back; then looked up and noticed that the sink mirror was low enough that he could see her working her arms around his head, tugging on his hair. He groaned as he took in the sight. Scout's tattoo was still very dark on her skin and it curled up her back and under the bra straps. He traced up the black lines and undid the clasp, revealing the whole design. Scout looked up at him and noticed him staring. She turned her head to see and she grinned devilishly in the mirror.

"Well that's interesting." She purred, reaching down to lift Chris' shirt over his head. He complied and she stood up, letting her bra drop to the floor. Chris looped two fingers in the waist of her panties, sliding them down her thighs to her ankles. He groaned and Scout giggled at the tent in his boxers.

"You are so fuckin' hot Scout." He purred, yanking her forward by her hips. She smiled and kissed him, slipping her tongue in his mouth. Fifteen years together and he still made her feel young and sexy. She was only thirty-five but it still meant something to be wanted so badly. Scout grabbed the legs of his boxers and yanked them down to his feet, revealing his throbbing erection.

"Only for you baby." She cooed, pumping him gently. Chris hissed and dug his fingers into her hips. The shower water was starting to heat up the room, making their bodies damp. Scout hovered over his lap and glanced back in the mirror, excited by the idea of Chris watching her every move from behind. She lowered onto him and groaned as he filled her completely. Chris tilted his head back, rocking his hips to rub into her clit. Scout whined and rose on his shaft only to thrust back down. He slammed her all the way, putting his hands on her butt, one on each side. Chris gripped and drove her up and down, leaning his head to kiss her neck. Scout braced herself by clutching his shoulders, whining repeatedly with each thrust.

"Oh yeah." Chris groaned, watching her hips between his legs in the mirror. The view was arousing and he felt his thighs tingle, threatening early release. He lifted her off his cock.

"Look." He purred. Scout's cheeks were red and she moaned as he pulled out. Chris turned her around and settled her so both were facing the mirror. "Watch." He whispered, biting an ear as he guided himself inside her again. His arms held her against his abdomen with one hand caressing a breast and the other between her legs, circling her button slowly. Scout grabbed on and opened her mouth, the sight and sensation taking her breath away.

"Oh god." She moaned, watching Chris rub between her legs and thrust into her simultaneously. He smiled against her neck, licking and sucking on the skin.

"How am I doin' baby?" He asked, sliding his finger over her clit, back to front. Scout gasped and nodded.

"More." Chris laughed and bucked harder, his own need accelerating as well. Scout turned her head and found his mouth, the two of them breathing harder and harder in the steamy room. The ground into each other like teenagers, desperate for stimulation as the pleasure increased with each plunge. Chris started to shake and Scout knew he was close, so she stood. He immediately swore and fumbled for her body.

"No." He whined, his eyes nearly closed with ecstasy. Scout panted and swallowed, moving away from his lap and towards the shower. Chris watched with a hungry stare and she smiled.

"Come and get me." She purred, opening the curtain and stepping backward into the hot water. It didn't take long before he charged into the scalding stream, lifting her off the ground and spreading her against the wall. Scout whined loudly into his ear, egging him on as he slid inside of her again, pounding.

"Yeah baby." She cooed, holding onto his back while he grunted in rhythm. His impending orgasm had turned him into an animal, thrusting savagely into her against the tile. Just how she liked it. "Come for me, Chris." Scout purred, biting his neck. He shifted his grasp on her legs towards her knees, pinning her closer to the wall. She gasped and forgot about talking as she climaxed with a shudder. Scout rode the waves of pleasure, slapping a palm against the wall and Chris bucked away as she contracted around his shaft, growling as he neared release.

"Fuck me, baby." Scout whispered. Chris trembled. _Dirty girl._ He came with a groan, his legs shaking from utter exhaustion. Scout lifted his head and kissed his lips, both of them gasping for breath as they enjoyed their orgasms. A few moments later, the hot water suddenly cooled and they shrieked, the temperature almost electrifying against their sweating bodies. Scout laughed.

"Guess you're going to have to take a cold shower." Chris snorted, lowering her onto her feet.

"Thanks." He growled, roughly kissing her again. She giggled and poked his stomach.

"Get home earlier and I wouldn't have to jump you." He rolled his eyes and stepped under the showerhead, reaching for a bottle of shampoo.

"Someone's gotta pay the bills." Chris teased, winking back at Scout. She slapped his bare ass with a grin, evoking a yelp.

"Fuck you." She purred. He raised and lowered his eyebrows.

"Please."

**Heh. Can't have a Scout story without sex can weeee? She's a very….hem….lively woman. Christopher isn't exactly unwilling either. ;) What did you thinkkkk?**


	5. Chapter 4

**I had a ball writing this. Lots of new characters! I'm really excited to introduce them. =) Enjoy.**

"Mom." Mark thumped a hand on the doorway. "Mom." Scout groaned and turned her head, looking up at her son through squinting eyes.

"Yeah?" Her hair was poufy and tangled, sticking up in weird places around her face. Mark snorted.

"Craig's here. I'm goin'." Scout frowned and looked at the clock on her right.

"Shit. It's already seven." She turned over and smacked the lump next to her. "Chris, move." His father was spread eagle and face down on the bed, snoring softly into his pillow. His right arm was clamped around his mother's waist and she tapped his shoulder. "Chris!" Mark laughed as his father groaned, releasing her and rolling away. Scout shook her head and stood up, walking across the room to hug her son.

"Bye, Mark." She whispered, kissing his cheek quickly.

"Cya later." He replied, looking over her shoulder. "Later, dad." Chris' arm hovered in the air and flopped back to the mattress with an unintelligible grumble. Mark grinned and backed down the hall. "I'm gonna hang with Dave and them after school." Scout crossed her arms and made a face.

"Hooray. My favorite people." Mark rolled his eyes.

"Bye." He ran out the door before she could protest, bounding up to the rusty 1966 Chevy Nova that was idling in front. He slipped in the front seat, closing the door with a high-pitched creak.

"How the fuck is this piece of shit still runnin'?" He asked, grinning over at the boy driving. Craig patted the steering wheel.

"I will her to life." He cooed. Mark laughed. Craig was seventeen years old and lived a couple blocks over. They'd met in elementary school and remained close even though they were separated by two grades. Craig had pitch-black hair, dark grey eyes, tan skin, and a thick torso. He had picked up weight lifting in middle school and loved wearing tight shirts to show off his overdeveloped biceps. Mark was slight in comparison to his friend even though he'd inherited his father's natural musculature.

"Everyday I'm still surprised she's holdin' together." Mark teased, tapping the glove box as Craig shifted the car into drive. The transmission gave a squeal and the car lurched forward.

"Someday I'll get something newer, but for now I gotta deal." He said, rubbing the steering wheel lovingly. "Besides, the old girl's still got somem' somem'." Mark snorted.

"Whatever." Craig turned the wheel and headed towards the city.

"Hey, we were looking for you last night at Ruger's. You didn't show!" Mark ran a hand through his short hair.

"Yeah, uh. Somethin' came up." Craig frowned and glanced over at him.

"Dude, it was at Ruger's. No one skips on a party like that!" Mark let out a dry laugh and stared at the dashboard.

"I was hangin' with Donnie." Craig laughed abruptly.

"WHAT? DUDE NO WAY!" Mark grinned slightly and Craig hit him in the shoulder. "What the fuck man! I thought you couldn't do that shit!" The other boy shrugged and leaned back in the seat.

"Yeah, me too. Fuckin' Don surprised me." Craig bobbed his head with enthusiasm as he turned down another street.

"FUCK! What happened?" Mark shrugged again and smirked.

"Just deliveries. Nothing eventful. But still…" He drifted off and looked out the window.

"FUCK! That musta been somethin'. Runnin' with Don Burnes. Shit." Craig shook his head. "I'd give up Ruger's parties for the rest of my life for that." Mark snorted, tapping a knuckle on the glass. After a few moments, he rolled his head to face his friend.

"Hey Craig, you know a Billy?" Craig frowned.

"Billy Wong? That Asian kid in my bio class?" Mark shook his head.

"Nah. Never mind." He stared out the window again, thinking about Sammy's eyes, how scared he'd been. _He was a crazy fuck._ He told himself, pushing the thought from his head.

Craig eased around a right turn and Mark groaned when he caught sight of the school. It was brown and ancient, a large parking lot surrounding the front. Bricks had come loose and been replaced over the years, creating a bizarre speckled effect across the building. Kids were all over the property, sitting on cars and in the grass with their friends. They turned into the far right section of the lot and parked next to an old, blue Ford Windstar. Craig's Nova gave out a whine of protest as he eased it into the spot, killing the engine with the turn of his key. Mark exited from the car and smacked a palm against the van.

"Mornin' losers." The door swung open and two identical boys were sitting inside, one smoking a cigarette, the other a joint. Mark shook his head. "Fuck Pete. It's seven and you're already starting that shit?" The boys had light blond hair and brown eyes, accented by sharp chins and cheekbones. Pete sported a shaggy mane and the other, Dave, a short faux hawk.

"Don't knock it asshole." He sighed, letting a lung's worth of smoke out into the van. Dave grinned at Mark and extended a hand, receiving a fist bump.

"Don't mind him, he's on his period today." Pete rolled his eyes and sat back in his seat.

"Fuck you guys." Craig stood up and crossed his arms on top of his car, receiving a nod from Dave.

"Hey juicer, you get laid last night? Tayrn looked ready to rumble at Ruger's." He teased, elbowing Pete in the side. His brother snorted, more smoke escaping through his nose. Craig raised and lowered his eyebrows.

"Is that even a question?" He purred, evoking laughs from all three boys. Mark plucked Dave's cigarette from his fingers, taking a deep drag. He didn't smoke full time, but a couple here and there did his nerves some good.

"You guys are assholes." A voice purred and all four boys glanced to the back of the van. A girl with short brown hair stepped around the car, crossing her arms in front of her white t-shirt. Her jeans were faded and ripped off at the knee, highlighting the red converse sneakers on her feet. Craig softened and approached her with a grin.

"Hi." He cooed. Tayrn laughed and a smile, wrapping her arms around his neck. Dave saluted to her from inside the van.

"And girl makes five." He said, grinning pleasantly. Mark watched her kiss Craig quickly and make her way over to the van door. He held out a fist and she hit it, grinning from ear to ear. Mark had liked Tayrn when he'd first met her in middle school. She was a cool chick and fit into the group easily. When he'd introduced her to Craig, he wasn't surprised when his friend was smitten with her.

"Hey T." She nodded and leaned against Craig's car.

"Hi Mark." Craig stood next to her and draped an arm around her shoulders. Mark took another drag and enjoyed the calmness of the morning. He loved his group of friends and wouldn't trade these moments for anything. Pete leaned forward, joining the real world momentarily.

"Hey T, you seen my lighter? I think I left it in your car." She shook her head.

"Pete, you were in so many cars last night, I can't even begin to guess where it is." Dave snorted and grabbed his cigarette from Mark, inhaling deeply.

"That's my brother, the man whore." Tayrn laughed and messed her own hair. The choppy layers hung just below her eyebrows in front of her face.

"Stumbling into vaginas." She chuckled. Craig made a face and Mark howled. It was true; Pete wasn't the smoothest of people, but he somehow got laid constantly. Mark shook his head.

"Fuckin' bastard." He muttered with a smile. Pete gave them all a loopy grin.

"It's the hair." He said, pointing to himself then turning his finger on Mark. "You should know Burnes, you got girls left and right when you sported the shag." Mark laughed and Craig nodded.

"He's right. You couldn't scrape 'em off." He squeezed Tayrn's shoulder. "Remember Whitney?" She laughed and Mark rolled his eyes. His ex, Whitney Samson, was the craziest girl he'd ever met. She'd practically proposed to him after one romp in Craig's basement.

"Don't remind me." He moaned, rubbing a hand through his hair. Dave grinned and grabbed Mark's face with his hands.

"OH MARK PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME! I LOVE YOU!" Mark chuckled and shoved him away while everyone laughed. Pete coughed out a puff of smoke.

"Fuckin' psyco bitch." He sputtered. Tayrn shoved Mark's elbow.

"You're just so fuckin' hot, Mark. She couldn't take it." He snorted and rolled his eyes.

The bell rang and all five groaned. Dave flicked his butt to the asphalt and climbed out of the van. Pete clamored after him, stretching his arms above his head. Both twins were about six foot, putting them above the rest of the sophomore class. Craig kissed Tayrn, cupping her face to his. No one minded as their tongues slipped back and forth; the group had endured their PDA for three years. By now, nothing fazed them. Mark started towards the school and Pete slammed the van door. All five walked in a clump, Mark between the twins while Craig and Tayrn took up the rear.

"Hey Mark, you went with Don?" Tayrn called. Mark glanced back at Craig and he grinned, shrugging his shoulders.

"Dude, it's news." Pete took Mark under his arm, suddenly very interested in the conversation.

"You runnin' with B street? You gotta hook me up man." Mark laughed and clapped Pete on the back.

"They don't deal weed you moron." Dave snorted.

"That mean you're B street?" He asked. Mark shook his head.

"Nah. Just took a run with Don, some deliveries." The twins nodded and he looked back at Craig and Tayrn.

"Don't go tellin' everyone blabber mouth. I'm dead if it gets out." Tayrn nodded.

"Scout's got spies." She touched her nose with a finger. "Got it." Mark rolled his eyes and she giggled. As they passed the senior hall, Craig ducked out of the group. "Docks?" He asked, pecking Tayrn on the cheek. Mark nodded.

"Yeah." Craig grinned and waved as they walked away. Tayrn slid in next to Mark and wrapped her arm over his shoulder.

"You gonna go with Don again?" Mark snorted..

"Probably not. Drew was pissed." She laughed and all four headed towards their first class, which they had together.

"Hey T, you know a Billy?" She scrunched up her face.

"Wait…" She bit her lip and Mark felt his stomach flop, thinking about Sammy's eyes again. Then she shook her head. "Shit, sounds familiar but I can't think of anything." He nodded and Dave stuck out a finger.

"Billy Wong?" Mark chuckled.

"Nah. Not him."

**Do you like the gang? Let me know. ;)**


	6. Chapter 5

**This one's longer! Had a massive story spurt. ;) Enjoy! **

Scout trudged into the kitchen and made a beeline for the coffee pot. Without opening her eyes, she opened the top and removed the old filter, replaced it, and scooped grounds inside. Chris shuffled in after her in a pair of boxers and wrapped his arms around her waist, settling his head on her shoulder.

"Hi." He murmured, kissing her cheek. Scout turned her head and pecked him on the lips, opening her eyes groggily. He squeezed her gently and she let out a groan. No matter how old she was, Scout would never be a morning person. Chris released her and walked over to the pantry, leaning inside and retrieving a box cereal. She glanced over to eyeball his butt and he caught her as he turned around. They exchanged raised eyebrows and Chris laughed, walking past her to the refrigerator. He smacked her rear and she grunted, slapping his bare back as he slipped away.

"It LIVES!" He shouted, smiling at her pouty face. Scout shook her head.

"How the fuck are you so awake?" Chris chuckled as he pulled milk out of the fridge. He put it on the counter and engulfed her in a hug, pressing every inch of his body against her.

"Really hot shower." He purred into ear, dipping his head down to kiss her bare shoulders. He pushed her hair to the side and trailed up her neck, making her shiver. He slipped his hands up under her racer-back tank, tickling. She turned against the counter and grabbed his head, pulling him into a full kiss. He molded her to his body, running a hand up her back and the other down into her shorts.

"Knock Knock." They parted and Scout shuffled to the back door, putting a hand on her hip. Standing behind the screen was Drew, his grin spread ear to ear. "Am I interrupting?" He said, opening the door and walking inside. Scout rolled her eyes and Chris went back to his cereal, putting a bowl on the table. Drew stooped down and kissed his sister in the cheek and she rubbed his shoulder.

"Hey Drew. Want some coffee?"

"No thanks. Hey Chris." Chris smiled and poured milk in his bowl.

"Mornin' Drew. What's goin' on?" Drew stuffed his hands in his pockets.

"Actually, I have some news." Scout turned and leaned on the counter. Drew took a breath. "Don's in the hospital." Chris frowned and his spoon froze over his bowl. Scout lurched forward and grabbed Drew's arm.

"What happened?" She asked, her mouth open in shock. Chris stood up and wandered closer, crossing his arms.

"He had an accident with his gun, shot himself in the gut." Scout covered her mouth and Chris shook his head.

"Shit." He murmured. "He gonna be ok?" Drew nodded.

"Yeah, he got out of surgery this morning and they say it wasn't bad. He should be fine." Scout lowered her hand and scoffed.

"How in the fuckin' hell did he shoot himself?" Drew shrugged.

"He was cleanin' the gun and didn't check the chamber, went off." She shook her head.

"Fuck. He's lucky." Chris nodded.

"Damn." Drew looked pained.

"Scared the piss out of Vin." Scout rubbed his arm and he weakly smiled. "Didn't want to lose another brother." She hugged him and he squeezed her tight.

"We'll go see him this afternoon." She murmured, rubbing his back. Drew nodded on her shoulder and Chris stepped forward.

"How long he gonna be in the hospital?" He asked as the siblings parted. Drew shrugged and ran a hand over the back of his neck.

"The doctor said anywhere from two weeks to a month. Depends I guess." The couple nodded in unison and all three stood in silence. Drew looked around the kitchen.

"Mark at school?" He asked casually. Scout nodded and he sighed. "That kid is growin' up fast." He looked at the floor and gripped a fist of his hair. "Every time I see him he looks more like…" He clicked his tongue and Scout tensed.

"He mentioned Billy last night." Chris looked over at her with dark eyes.

"He did what?" She nodded and looked suspiciously at Drew.

"Asked me if I knew a Billy. How does he know that Drew?" Her brother gave her a genuine shrug and opened his hands.

"I haven't said a word." She put her hands on her hips but her face said she believed him. Chris clapped his hands on his face.

"Fuck." He swore, dragging them down his cheeks. "We knew this would happen eventually. Living in this fuckin' city." Drew rolled his eyes and flopped his head back.

"Blame the city, ok." Chris snarled and Scout stepped forward, separating them.

"Hey! WE ALL made this decision. Mark has every right to know who his father is, he was bound to figure it out." She looked back at Chris. "You know that." He set his jaw and crossed his arms, hissing a breath out of his nose. Scout turned her attention to Drew. "I just wanna know how he found out about Billy." Drew shrugged.

"I mean, the kid looks just like Darley. Someone was gonna see the resemblance." Scout sighed and slowly nodded.

"Sooner than I expected." She muttered. Chris' frown remained and Drew felt uncomfortable as the silence grew longer.

"Well, I'm gonna head back to the hospital. I'll cya later." He murmured, retreating out the back door. Scout held it open for him as he left, hugging herself.

"We'll come by when Mark comes home." He nodded and cut through the small yard to the back alley. Scout let the door close with a bang and she sighed again.

"So much for a good morning." Chris stared out the door's window, frozen like a statue with crossed arms. She saw the sad look in his eyes and she went to him, hugging him around the waist. He didn't unravel his arms so Scout kissed his biceps.

"Mark loves you very much. Nothing will change that." Chris exhaled and his chest deflated. He uncrossed his arms and hugged her to him, holding her head in a palm.

"He's my son." She nodded and squeezed him tight.

"No matter what."

XXXXXXXXXXX

"I wanna go to the warehouse." Mark said, exhaling a cloud of smoke in the air. Pete made a face and Dave's eyes went wide.

"Are you crazy? We'd been eaten alive." He murmured, shaking his head. "I'd like to live to see tomorrow." Pete giggled.

"Let's do it." Dave raised an eyebrow and punched his brother. Mark took another drag and thought it over again. The three boys were sitting on the roof of the Windstar, looking out at the empty docks. Nothing had moved through there in years, the entire area boarded off and slapped with no trespassing signs. They come here after school to smoke and talk, knowing no one would bother them.

"Seriously, my uncle fuckin' runs B street. We wouldn't have a problem." Dave stared at him and yanked his cigarette from his mouth.

"What the hell would we do that for? None of us are members and those are big guys!" Mark rolled his eyes and Dave elaborated, gesturing with his hands. "Dangerous guys!" He shook his head and Pete snorted.

"Chicken." Mark laughed and watched Dave turn red. Normally, Dave wasn't the naysayer, but this had him spooked.

"You went on one run with your uncle, that doesn't make you a member." Mark exhaled as Craig's Nova appeared and he hopped down off the roof, landing with a thud.

"I'm a fuckin' member because I saved my uncle's life." Pete let out another giggle and Dave punched him again, frowning with confusion at Mark.

"What the fuck are you talkin' about?" The Nova pulled up next to the van and Tayrn jumped out immediately, leaping onto Mark's back.

"YEAH MARK! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKIN' ABOUT?" She giggled hysterically and Pete joined in, kicking his legs on the side of the van. Craig rose from his car and smacked Tayrn's butt, laughing at her high-pitched squeal. Mark straightened and she slipped off, wrapping her arms around Craig's waist.

"Seriously, what are you talkin' about?" She said. Mark took a breath.

"I went on a run with Don, right?" Everyone nodded except Pete who was smiling gleefully.

"Well, shit went down on the last stop." Dave leaned forward on the car and Tayrn stood up, crossing her arms. "We get to this crack house and Don tells me to stay in the car." Pete giggled and Dave hit him again, hushing him with a hiss. "So I'm sittin' there, bored as shit, and a gun goes off." Tayrn covered her mouth and Dave slid off the car. Even Pete grew quiet.

"I ran around back and snuck inside, and there's this tweaker, standin' over Don with a gun. He's screamin' some shit about cops and I'm like, fuck!" Craig frowned deeply and Dave starting shaking his head. "So I pulled my knife and I told him to drop it. Fuckin' prick shoots at me—" Tayrn brought her other hand to her mouth, staring with enormous eyes. Mark grinned a little and continued. "Don kicked him and he falls, then I'm on him with my knife." Dave is frozen, hanging on Mark's every word and Pete has long forgotten the joint in his hand. "Don hits him and the guy is out cold. We go to leave and he wakes up and shoots again. So I jumped on him and I just—" He motioned with a hand, jutting it out like he was holding the pocket knife again. Tayrn uncovered her mouth.

"You killed him?" Mark nodded.

"I mean, yeah." Dave stared and Craig ran a hand through his hair.

"Shit." Mark took a drag.

"You're tellin' me." Dave snapped out of his trance.

"FUCK." He yelled. Mark nodded.

"Yeah." He exhaled and flicked ash onto the gravel below. "Add to it." Craig pulled Tayrn into his arms. "The guy, when I'm standin' over him, looks up at me with these wild eyes, freaked as shit. Calls me Billy." Craig frowned.

"Billy who?" Mark shook his head.

"Obviously, I don't know." Tayrn stared at the ground, frowning with concentration.

"I know a Billy." Pete kicked his legs.

"Billy Wong?" Dave whirled on his brother.

"SHUT UP PETE!" The twin only shrugged and took another hit. Tayrn looked nervously up at Mark.

"When I was a kid, my ma used to tell me about my uncle. He was some banger who died when I was little. He ran for a crew called the Darleys." Mark frowned and Craig nodded.

"Yeah, I remember. I was like eight when that shit went down." Tayrn nodded.

"My brother was a baby and my ma lived with my uncle Brandon in Stokely when it happened." Mark exhaled in irritation.

"When what happened?" Tayrn ran her hands over her arms.

"One of the Darleys killed some rich kid and the kid's dad went ape shit. Killed all of them, including their top guy." She glanced back at Craig. "I think his name was Billy." Mark shook his head.

"So what, he was some gang leader who died when I was a kid?" Tayrn nodded.

"It was all over the news. His dad and brother, all of the Darleys: dead. The whole crew: dead, including my uncle." Craig kissed her cheek.

"I'm sorry baby." She shook her head and shrugged.

"I don't remember him at all. He was never around, always at that old mental place where they cooked their heroine." She scoffed. "Fuckin' died there too." Mark flicked his butt to the ground.

"That place that's fallin' apart?" She nodded.

"My mom puts flowers there. She loved her brother." Craig squeezed her gently as she spoke. "Place is fenced off and stuff. I drove by once. People say you can still see the blood on the walls." Mark crossed his arms and tilted his head.

"Wait, they all died there? The whole gang?" Tayrn nodded.

"Pretty much." Pete slid down off the roof of the van. Dave turned to look at him and Mark breathed deeply, processing Tayrn's story. Pete walked up behind him and gripped his shoulder.

"Let's go there." He sang. Craig shot up.

"No way. That place is comin' down. We could die rootin' around in there." Mark looked at Pete and the stoner nodded.

"Yeah." Mark said, his voice growing louder. "I wanna see it." Craig grabbed him and turned him around.

"Mark, we're not goin' to some crumblin' death trap because a tweaked out stranger called you Billy." Mark grinned.

"No, we're goin' cuz it'll be fun." Dave flopped his arms to his sides.

"What the fuck, it's better than goin' to the warehouse and gettin' our asses kicked. Let's do it." Pete clapped his brother on the back and they wore identical grins. Mark looked past Craig to Tayrn.

"You in?" She looked at Craig and he gave her a stare. Then she shrugged.

"Come on, Craig. It's somethin' to do." He groaned and met Mark's eyes. He stared for a second then sighed.

"I'm only doin' this because I don't want you goin' without me." Mark smiled and clapped Craig on the back. Pete let out a howl.

"VANNNNNN!" He screamed, throwing open the door and jumping head first into the middle seat. Mark felt a tingle up his spine as he climbed in behind Dave. Something felt right about this and he shivered as the car started.

**=) I love you guys. =)**


	7. Chapter 6

**Thanks for the reviews guys. =) I love writing this story for you. Enjoy!**

Scout swung her legs, dangling them from the kitchen stool. Her elbows were propped on the counter as she waited impatiently for her son to come home. Her hair was pulled up into a high ponytail but it still flowed down her back, covering her green t-shirt.

"What the hell do kids do for…" She turned her head and read the clock on the wall. It was almost seven. "…four hours?" Chris mumbled something from the living room and Scout rolled her eyes, sliding off the chair. Her bare feet clopped against the wooden floor as she walked down the hall.

"What?" Chris was stretched out on the couch, wearing jeans and a black t-shirt. He craned his neck to look up at her from his reclined position on the armrest.

"Remember what we did?" Scout groaned and walked past the couch, running a hand through Chris' hair as she went. She sat gently on his thighs and curled up against his chest.

"When I was fifteen?" She said, smiling. "I had more brothers watching my every move than any boy could stand." Chris snorted and rested his arms on her waist.

"I can't imagine you let that stop you." Scout laughed and poked his stomach.

"True." He pulled her up higher on his body and sighed.

"I was fifteen when my mom left." Chris murmured. Scout's smile faded and she touched his chest. "Packed up all her shit in the middle of the night, left without sayin' a word." Suddenly, being raised by four brothers seemed like a glamorous childhood. Chris hadn't been so lucky. Scout kissed his jaw.

"That's when you started workin' for Mark?" Chris nodded, grinning at the mention of her eldest brother.

"Had to pay the rent. Didn't want the landlord to find out I was livin' alone." He gripped her shoulder and held her tight. "Mark was the coolest guy. Gave me a job runnin' errands. He even made me come over for dinner couple times cuz he knew…" Chris laughed softly, letting the sentence fade away. "He was a good guy." Scout felt a tear run down her cheek. Mark had been like a father to her after their parents had died. Losing him was the hardest thing she'd ever endured and it had taken her down a dark road. Then she'd given birth to her Mark and found a brighter future in him. She smiled and nestled against the Chris' t-shirt.

"I miss him everyday." She whispered. The sun started to fade and the light in the room gradually turned to a warm orange. They stayed on the couch and watched it work its way down the wall to the floor, ticking away the minutes until dark.

XXXXXXXXX

Mark had passed this street several times before but now it meant something. It was like a mystery that he wanted to solve. Craig was driving and Mark was shotgun, staring out the window as he listened to his heartbeat. Tayrn and the twins were in the back, talking quietly as the ominous building approached.

It had once been a large mental hospital but now it was a shell, sections of the long building collapsing in on itself after years of neglect. The fence was visible from far away, the tall chain link extending almost fifteen feet into the air. The city hadn't bothered to tear the old hospital down so they just left it to the elements, roping it off from the rest of the world. Mark's brain buzzed when they slowed in front of the boarder and Craig turned off the car with a sigh.

"Fuck." He murmured, staring at the remnants in the distance. Police warnings were slapped on the fence, informing them that the property belonged to the city and entering was prohibited. The lettering was barely visible on the worn metal. Mark hopped out and walked up to the fence, slipping his fingers through the holes. The empty building was like a corpse, grotesque and frightening while also drawing the eye. He couldn't look away. It called like a lost ghost as the evening wind hissed through the missing windows.

"It's fuckin' huge." He whispered. Tayrn leaned next to him, grasping the metal in a similar fashion.

"I've never been this close." She said to him. "I've always just looked from the road." Her voice trailed away. Pete let out a snort.

"Move aside children." Mark looked to see him wielding large bolt cutters and he laughed.

"Why the fuck do you have those?" He asked, grinning from ear to ear. Pete shrugged and Dave smirked.

"How else do you get into abandoned buildings?" Pete laughed.

"Or steal bikes?" Craig shook his head.

"Remind me to not bother with padlocks." The twins grinned and Pete advanced on the lock that dangled six feet in the air. With a hard snap the cutters broke through the rusting metal and the chain fell to the ground with thud. Mark shoved the fence and it groaned as it swung slowly. Pete put the cutters on his shoulder and the five friends advanced in eerie silence, taking in the asylum grounds as the sun slowly descended.

The trees around them were tall and fat, overgrown and surrounded by years of un-raked leaves. An asphalt drive led toward the main door and the group walked briskly up to the steps, looking around to make sure they weren't seen. There was nothing for blocks but they all felt as though eyes were everywhere, judging their every footstep.

"You think its haunted?" Pete asked; the cutters were still slung over his shoulder. Dave snorted and Mark shrugged.

"Who knows." Tayrn rubbed her arms. Craig reached out and hugged her as they walked.

"You cold?" He asked. She shook her head and her hair danced.

"This place is just…" Mark looked at her and they met eyes.

"Heavy." He murmured. Tayrn nodded. The two of them felt something here and it had crawled under their skin. Pete bounded up the stairs, another padlocked chain barred their entrance and he broke it free with a grunt. He set the cutters down in the doorway and yanked the chain from the knobs. The old glass doors had been boarded up and slapped with more notices but Pete paid them no heed. With a swift kick, they blasted open, revealing the dark depths within. By then, they'd all gathered on the top step. Dave clapped his hands on Mark's shoulders.

"You first." Mark nodded and entered slowly, his feet crunching on the crumbled cement below. The doors led to a short flight of steps and Mark took them quickly, his pulse pounding in his ears.

Inside the room opened up to a long hall with doorways down both sides. The walls were covered in graffiti and the floor was scattered with dust and boxes. Hospital beds stood on their ends around the room with the cobwebs in their bars. Tayrn came up behind Mark and swallowed. Dave bounded past and smeared a hand over the walls, revealing the old paint beneath.

"Look at this man! This shit is old school!" Pete strode in behind him and went up to an upright bed, standing inches from it.

"Place is fuckin' weird." He muttered, taking a drag on what remained of his joint. Their voices echoed off the tile and cement and Craig stood on Mark's left, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"It looks a lot worse on the outside." He observed, looking at the generally stable state of the structure. He bent down and picked something up from the dust-coated floor. Mark leaned to look and Craig ran a hand over it, revealing the words, "POLICE LIN". Craig whistled and Mark touched the crime scene tape with hesitant fingers. It was like they'd stepped into a time capsule. Tayrn wandered down the hall, crossing her arms as she read the words sprayed on the walls. Pete continued to stare at the bed, lifting a finger to poke at the dirty metal rungs.

"Wonder if the blood's still here." Craig said, still holding the tape in his hand. "The police barely cleaned up after themselves." He muttered. Mark saw Tayrn tense and he approached her, touching her softly on the back.

"You good?" He asked, knowing this was weirdest for her. She nodded and smiled, looking back at him. Her eyes were shining with moisture and Mark felt a pang of guilt for wanting them to come here. She blinked and a tear ran down her face.

"That's him." She whispered, turning her head back to the wall. Mark followed her gaze and Craig came up behind them, wrapping an arm around Tayrn's shoulders. The wall was covered in dust but underneath black lines formed jagged letters. "BAGGY" Craig gripped Tayrn tight and kissed her hair softly.

"Your uncle?" She nodded and Dave wandered over, looking at the writing like it was a piece in an art museum.

"I thought you said you didn't know him well." He said, cocking an eyebrow at the black letters. Tayrn laughed quietly and wiped her eyes.

"I didn't. It's just different when you're standin', lookin' at his past. Knowin' he died here." She wiped her cheeks and shook her head. "Almost forgot his nickname." She muttered, touching the wall with her fingers. Mark rubbed her back.

"You wanna go?" He asked, unsure of what they could find ahead. Tayrn made a face.

"Fuck no. I'm not missin' out." She smiled. "My ma would just have liked to see this." Mark nodded. A loud clanging sound erupted in the room and they all covered their ears, yelling out in surprise. Dave whirled around.

"FUCK WAS THAT?" Pete stood in the distance, his hand stuck out in front of him and the bed lying on the floor, a cloud of dust settling around it. Dave scowled and picked up a bit of debris, chucking it in his brother's direction. Pete dodged it and shrugged.

"Thing creeped me out." He murmured. Craig let out a laugh and Mark relaxed. They'd been so amped up they'd been like loaded guns. Mark snorted.

"Pete, you are a stupid motherfucker." Dave let out a laugh and everyone joined in, Pete included. When their nerves had calmed, Mark looked around the room again, glancing at the doors. Only one was opened and it led to a flight of stairs so they all carefully climbed them, gripping the walls. The top of the stairs fed into a small hallway and Mark walked slowly through it. The floors were surprisingly clear but scratches on the concrete revealed objects had been moved; now, only a thin layer of dust sat on the surface. Red circles were scattered on the right wall and Dave stepped closer to look.

"Fuck man. These are bullet holes." He whispered, sticking a finger into one of the marks. The police had circled each impact, many of them in clusters. Other circles lined the floor and Mark nodded, putting the clues together. He pointed.

"Casings." Nothing remained in the marks, but Craig stepped in the middle of them, lining his head up with the bullet holes.

"This is fuckin' crazy." He whispered. He held up an arm and made his hand into a gun, pointing it toward the next doorway. "Surreal." Tayrn strode down the hall and stood, looking down at the floor. She motioned to them with an arm.

"Look at this!" All the boys rushed forward and stared where she was pointing. The floor differed from the rest of the hall; the color was dark and brown, fading out around the ends in a large patch. Tayrn hit Mark in the shoulder.

"That's fuckin' blood."

**Won't leave you hanging for long. I promise. **


	8. Chapter 7

**I promised it wouldn't be too long of a wait. =) **

They wandered through the building until it was dark. Blood spots and trails were scattered through several rooms, accompanied by more circles and discarded tape. No one dared to speak in anything above a whisper; the stained floor beneath them was as sacred as a cemetery. Craig prowled behind Mark, watching the group like a protective guard dog. The upper levels were less stable than the lobby had been and several walls had collapsed, blocking some doors. Pete wielded a piece of pipe he'd found among random rubble and he swung it around corners, giggling softly like he expected to find someone standing on the other side. The temperature dropped steadily and Mark eventually felt his skin prickling from the chill and the eerie darkness that engulfed him. He was about to give up and turn back to the van. A feeling of unfinished business swooped over him and he sighed, wishing he knew why he'd come here. The hospital was only a stained reminder of a violent history.

"Where does this go?" Pete sang, sticking his head in a narrow passage in a wall. It was partially hidden by a shelf and he threw his pipe, shoving the old structure to the side. It emitted a piercing screech and the group collectively rolled their eyes. He made the most noise out of everyone.

"Pete, come on it's getting cold." Craig called, glancing over at Tayrn. She was subtly trying to hug herself, her shirt barely covering her upper arms. She caught his look and she shrugged, letting her arms fall to her sides.

"I'm fine." She said, tossing him a glare. Mark grinned to himself. Tayrn wouldn't let any boy out tough her. The girl had a strength that he could only guess she'd inherited from a rough upbringing. She helped raise her little brother from an early age and it took away a lot of her childhood, forcing her into a parental role before ten. Pete made a face and looked from Craig to Tayrn and shrugged.

"Ooook." He cooed, slinking into the dark hole. Dave lingered nearby, shaking his head at his brother.

"We could just leave him here you know." He muttered. Mark laughed and followed Pete into the pitch-black passage. He lightly dragged his fingers along the walls, trying to avoid running into them. His foot hit something solid and he lurched forward, bringing his hands out to break the impact with the floor. A fist grabbed his collar and a soft glow appeared next to his face.

"Stairs." Pete giggled, shining his phone on the floor below them. Mark snorted and stood back up, straightening his shirt.

"Thanks." The blond boy nodded and clunked upward, fading from view with his small beckon. Mark flipped out his own phone, mentally cursing for not thinking of it before. He turned and looked back at the entrance. Dave slid in and Mark pointed.

"Watch your step." The twin nodded and followed. Mark craned to look behind him. "Where's Craig?" Dave grinned.

"He's not comin'. Wants to hang with Tayrn." He raised and lowered his eyebrows, elbowing him in the side. "Yah mean?" Mark snorted and ascended, keeping a hand on the wall.

"Fuckin' rabbits those two." Dave giggled and Pete repeated the sound up ahead. He stood on a landing, waiting patiently for them.

"This shit is awesome." He sang, pointing away from the stairs. A red lit glowed from a doorway and Mark cocked his head, instantly intrigued.

"What the hell?" He murmured, walking past Pete and slowly approaching the light. An old dusty drape covered the majority of the entrance and he pushed it hesitantly, waving a hand at the copious amounts of dust that fell on him. Pete snickered and Dave shook his head silently. Mark stepped through and his breath caught in his throat.

The doorway opened up to a large room that was cast in an eerie red glow. Broken stained glass covered three of the four walls, letting in light from the moon. Wooden bits of furniture lay strew on the floor and the platform under Mark's feet groaned at his weight. He moved gently into the middle, stepping around a large stone object that jutted from the floor. Pete appeared next and was giggling again, jumping down from the stage and clomping around on the cement.

"It's a fuckin' church man!" Dave crossed his arms as he entered after his brother, looking around at the red windows.

"Chapel stupid. It's in a hospital." Mark reached down and touched the stone, running his fingers in the carved grooves. It was an angel, laying face down in the stage floor. It's mate still hung from the ceiling, dangling precariously from one supporting chain. A large cross was propped against the windows, several of them broken beneath its beams. Pete kicked a piece of wood, looking beneath it.

"Fuckin' nothin' left in here." Dave stepped down and shuffled under a chandelier that hung in the center of the room, glaring up at it with a frown. Mark scanned the room and shivered. Something was strange about this place. His body was on high alert, almost humming beneath his clothes. The chapel felt…familiar. More circles were scattered around the windows behind him and Mark shivered.

"Woah man, motherload!" Pete cried, pushing aside a large chunk of a pew. Dave and Mark walked over and stared in silence as they took in the stain on the floor. It was much larger than any of the others in the building, radiating outward in one direction like a half circle. The edges were defined lines, creating a very dark, ominous shape. Mark's cheeks burned and he shook his head, fighting the reaction. His hand tingled and he stared at it, remembering the warm blood that had covered it. Wind whistled in the broken glass and something buzzed inside his body.

"Shit." He swore. Smacking his hand against his jeans pocket. His phone lit up, the word "Home" flashing on the screen. Dave made a thumbs-down sign and shook his head. Pete was shoving more wood around on the floor with his sneakers when Mark opened his phone.

"Yeah?" His mother sounded agitated.

"It's almost eight. Where are you?" He motioned to Dave, walking back where they came.

"I'm on my way home." Scout scoffed.

"We gotta go see your uncle in the hospital." Mark froze and listened carefully.

"What happened?" He covered his eyes, hoping his tone was convincing.

"What do you think? He did something stupid." Mark let out a sigh of relief, nodding to himself. She was protecting him from the truth, as always. A deep voice rumbled in the background, his father obviously adding his own two cents. "Just come home." His mother finished with a slight laugh in her voice.

"Yeah. I'm comin." He replied, snapping the phone shut. Mark turned to his friends. "Let's go guys." Dave raised his hands.

"Uh oh. Big bad mommy called." Mark flicked him off and disappeared into the dark stairway, quickly descending. Footsteps followed and Mark emerged back into the hall. Tayrn and Craig weren't in sight and he cupped his hands to his mouth.

"Hey love birds, where you at?" Craig's voice thundered from a floor below and the three boys followed it, finding their way back to the lobby. Tayrn was running her hands through her hair when they arrived, her lips and cheeks bright red. Craig's t-shirt was misshapen and wrinkled, hanging at an odd angle on his shoulders. Pete let out a loud snort and Craig scowled.

"Fuck hurry up why don't ya." He growled with a snarl on his lips. Mark laughed and started for the front door.

"Don's in the hospital, gotta get home." Suddenly Craig's angry face disappeared and he nodded, pulling his keys out of his back pocket. Dave wrapped an arm around Craig's shoulders as the five headed out into the cool night.

"Hey big guy. You have fun without us?" Craig shrugged out of his embrace, the snarl reappearing on his face.

"You guy are fuckin' evil." Tayrn's laugh echoed off the walls as they all jogged through the double doors and down the steps to the drive outside.

"Oh Craig, take it as a complement." He cocked an eyebrow and looked at her. She danced ahead of him, keeping pace with Mark. "You're no minute man." She winked, running her tongue over her top teeth. Pete let out a howl and did a cartwheel on the old asphalt while Dave messed his faux hawk with a chuckle. Mark shook his head and smiled, glancing back at the looming building as they walked back to the car. It felt smaller now, less threatening. His eyes scanned the side of the facility and he vowed silently he'd return.

…**.thoughts?**


	9. Chapter 8

**I'm on a rampage. =) Yes, I am a freak. Love to my reviewers! I promise I'll get back to everyone when I can pull myself away from my characters. LOL. You want updates? I'll give you updates. ;) **

It had occurred to him in the car as his parents drove to the hospital. Mark had been processing the stories he'd heard from Tayrn and the night at the crack house when he'd remembered his mother. Scout had been around when the Darleys ran heroine; she would know Billy Darley. Immediately his skin had run hot. She'd lied. No one forgets a name like that and he knew it. His mother had lied to his face.

Now he stood outside Donnie's room, leaning on a wall with his arms crossed. The confusion he felt was muddled with anger and he couldn't help but frown. Scout had always been protective but this was something else. His father emerged from the room and leaned next to him, putting an arm around his shoulders. Mark let his brow relax and gave a tight smile. Chris let his head fall back against the wall and sighed. Mark spoke before he could think to stop.

"Mom knew Billy Darley, right?" His father tensed and his arm lifted away. The expression on his face was defensive and stern.

"What?" Mark was getting tired of the dodging.

"I know she was here when he was alive. So were you." Chris frowned and stared at his son's face. Then he brought a hand up to his forehead and rubbed it, letting out a long breath.

"Shit." He muttered. Mark was shocked when his father's face changed and his eyes turned sad. He stood off the wall and uncrossed his arms, bringing down his harsh offensive.

"What? You knew him?" Chris shook his head softly.

"No, not exactly." Scout stepped into the hall and Mark whirled.

"But you did." She frowned in confusion.

"I did what now?" Chris covered his face with his hands, rubbing the corners of his eyes with a groan. Scout's frown fell when she saw the pain on his face. Mark felt unquenchable fury rise in his body and he charged into Donnie's room, grabbing the handle bar of his bed with two hands. He leant over and Donnie's eyes went wide.

"What the fuck, Mark?" He murmured. Mark shook. The rage inside of him was uncalled for and Mark knew it, but his brain and his heart were two different entities. Deep down, he felt them lying. They were hiding something.

"Why did that bum call me Billy?" He hissed at his uncle. Scout grabbed his shoulders and attempted to yank pull him away.

"Mark! What are you doing?" Donnie's face fell flat and his eyes softened in understanding. He knew. Whatever it was, he knew.

"TELL ME! I SAVED YOUR FUCKIN' LIFE!" Mark screamed, bucking from his mother's grasp. Her hands fell to her sides and her stare turned from her son to her brother.

"What?" She asked slowly. Chris clapped his hands on Mark's arms and hauled him from his looming position. Mark struggled but his father's hold was strong. Scout cocked her head and an angry frown creased her forehead. "He did what?" Don sighed and gestured weakly to his sister.

"It wasn't a big deal." Scout's eyes grew darker and she approached her brother's bed like a hungry predator.

"The fuck it wasn't." She hissed. "What. did. he. do?" Mark was silent, watching his mother's fury rival his own. "DON!" Her brother jumped and he winced at the movement it caused.

"I told him to stay in the fuckin' car. Just had to make a few runs." She advanced on him and brought a hand across his face. Chris and Mark both flinched as the slap resounded in the room.

"Shit!" Donnie cursed, holding his cheek. "I'm sorry, S. I wasn't thinking." She pointed at his bandage.

"This. This is what happened?" Donnie rubbed his cheek and didn't answer. Scout looked over at her son. "MARK." His anger returned and he snarled.

"I'm not tellin' you anythin' until you tell the truth." The combination of his speech and the ice in his eyes sent a chill down Scout's spine. It was as if Billy Darley had been reborn, standing there in front of her in the tiny room. She froze and closed her mouth, unable to respond. Chris shook his son by the shoulders.

"Don't talk to your mother that way." He hissed. "Tell her what happened." Mark looked at Donnie. His uncle was lying back on the upright bed, flexing his jaw with his eyes closed.

"Some junkie shot at Don." Scout covered her forehead with a hand, tears threatening to fall as she listened on in horror. "I heard it from the car. I went inside. I saved him." Donnie let out a breath, thankful that Mark had left the details out. His mother didn't need to know that he'd been shot at, twice, or that he'd stabbed Sammy to save Donnie. The boy wasn't relieved or satisfied. He leaned over his uncle's bed once again, fighting against his father's stunned grip.

"Now tell me. Why?" Donnie's eyes opened and he looked up into the blue irises glaring down at him.

"I can't do that." He murmured, shaking his head in an honest apology. Mark slammed a hand down on the bed.

"BULLSHIT!" Scout snapped out of her trance.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Mark whirled on her and growled.

"The junkie called me Billy." His voice lowered and he pulled against his father, staring at his uncle. "Why?" Chris' eyes filled with pain and he couldn't bear to hold Mark's arms any longer. His grip disappeared and Mark turned in surprise, watching as his father backed towards the door. He saw tears shining in his eyes and Mark was suddenly afraid, unsure if he wanted to hear the truth after all.

"Cuz you look just like 'im kid." Chris said softly, putting his hands in his pockets. Scout went to him, trying to touch him or pull him into her arms. He pushed her hands away and tossed her a furious glare, something Mark had never seen between them before. Scout whispered.

"Chris wait." His father blinked and wet streaks trailed down his cheeks. He looked back up at Mark and gestured with a hand.

"You're his son."

The room was still. For several seconds, Mark could only stare. His voice failed him and his tongue was useless. No one dared to breathe except for Mark who couldn't manage to inhale at all. His stomach split in two as he realized what Chris had said. Darley. He was a Darley. The air around him didn't smell right and his head started to hurt. The hospital, blood. He reached out to grab the bed beside him but he was too slow. His knees buckled as he remembered the stains and bullet holes. _You're his son._ Scout rushed forward as Mark heaved. The smell. Donnie was shouting something and Chris had disappeared. The sounds in his ears were muted and his mother murmured over him incoherently. He heaved again. Feet appeared and a nurse ran in with his father. His father. Mark looked up at the man standing over him. Chris. His light brown hair and dark eyes. Darley. The thoughts in his head collided like cars in a pileup, smashing violently into each other. He vomited with a shudder.

"BREATHE!" A voice screamed and Mark gasped, pulling air into his lungs. The nurse patted his back as he coughed and sputtered. "There you go, take another deep breath." He wheezed at her command. Darley. You're a Darley. _Billy?_ The fear and blood. Sticky on his hands. Mark let out a groan, tears streaming down his face. He'd known. Deep down he'd felt the connection to the name, the hospital, everything. Sammy had created a question and the question had driven him forward, pressing him for the truth. But he'd known the answer all along. Tayrn's words had felt like an old bedtime story, dormant in the back of his mind. He'd known the ending. Was it possible?

"I should get you a doctor." The nurse said, looking up at Chris. He shook his head.

"No." The answer was blunt and the nurse frowned with concern. "Just a hard thing…" Chris recovered, trying to sound pleasant. "…seeing his uncle this way." The nurse smiled in understanding, continuing to rub Mark's back.

"I'll go get a janitor." She said softly. "Do you need anything honey?" She cooed. Mark looked up from the floor as he panted. His eyes met Chris' and pain shot through him. His father. Mark saw the sadness in the dark eyes above him and he reached out with a hand.

"Dad." It was a whisper and a sob all in one and Chris' face wrinkled as he fought a sob of his own. He bent down and took Mark's hand, pulling him into a hug. Mark held him tight and Chris locked around him. The two women slowly left the room and Donnie sat in silence as they cried. Chris put a hand on Mark's head and pressed it to his chest.

"I love you, kid. No matter what"

**Well, the cat is out of the bag, so to speak. THANKS FOR READING! I love you all. =)**


	10. Chapter 9

**Reuploaded this because I totally fucked up and used the wrong name. Tanner was supposed to be Trent. Switched characters with my first fic(which has since been deleted) That's what I get for not checking with Mirror Image. derp. Sorry guys, my bad.**

_Take a deep breath. _

_You can do this. _

_Just think about who you are. _

_You are...terrified. No no. You're fearless. You're ruthless. You're going to run this city. _

_Get out of the car. _

_Don't be afraid of them, they don't know you. Not the real you. They see a kid. You're not a kid. Not anymore._

_Walk slow but don't look scared. Make them remember this day. Yeah. This is a big day._

_Breathe. Think about the blood._

_The blood. Who you are. Big breath. _

_You've got this. Just breathe. _

_You're a Burnes._

_You're a Darley. _

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

His hands were as cold as his eyes. He'd been up all night thinking about this moment, running the words over and over in his head. He was sure about this. As he wrenched the steel door from the frame, Mark felt his heart and stomach go numb. He felt no fear. It hit him like a wave and he embraced it, hiding behind the wall he'd created. Eyes were on him in a second and he'd expected it.

"WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU!" A voice screamed. A gun was jammed in his side before he could respond and he locked his jaw, holding his empty hands up in the air. The large man in front of him grabbed him by the collar, pulling him violently forward.

"YOU FUCKIN' LOST?" He bellowed, his foul breath filled Mark's head and he grimaced, grinding his back teeth.

"I'm here to see Trent." He said steadily. His tone was serious but reserved; he couldn't afford to be uppity when a gun was shoved in his gut. The man snorted and gripped his face.

"Trent who?" He teased, grinning through yellowed teeth. Mark's anger started to build. He'd endured plenty of assholes, but he wasn't going to put up with this guy much longer. Not in his own territory.

"The Trent who runs this warehouse for my uncle, Vincent Burnes." The yellow smile disappeared and Mark sneered. "Wanna let go of me, shithead?" The oaf obeyed, pushing him away and looking over him closely.

"You Scout's boy?" He asked. His glare hadn't softened but instead developed into a suspicious inspection. Mark raised his chin, flaunting the Burnes family scowl.

"Do I look like a girl?" He hissed, pushing aside his open jacket and flaunting his hardened frame. The man smirked. Mark knew he looked good. He'd seen it on the faces of the girls at school. Ever since he'd made this plan, he'd gone to work on building his body. Along with the four inches he'd grown in the past two years, Mark had gained thirty pounds. The muscles wrapped his torso and arms nicely, putting him at the front of jocks at school. The girls weren't the objective. Today was. He'd planned today for two years.

"You gonna let me see 'im or what?" Mark snapped, glaring at the idiot in front of him. Eventually he received a nod.

"Stay here." The man muttered, stepping towards a doorway. He opened and dipped into the door. Mark heard him say something inside and another man poked his head out, giving Mark a good stare. Then he put a phone to his ear. Both men watched him like he'd sprouted a second head.

"IF YOU WHISPER ON THE PHONE IT DEFEATS THE FUCKIN' PURPOSE!" A voice echoed through the large steel building and Mark grinned. Trent's rage and attitude was recognizable anywhere. The second minion closed his phone and stood from the chair he was perched on. The pair hovered in the door and footsteps started on a catwalk along the right length of the building.

"What are you fuckin' clowns whinin' about now?" The steps neared and Mark looked up the stairs as the Trent descended with a loud sigh. When he spied the teen at the bottom, Trent stopped and stared at him. The years hadn't been kind to the heroine cook. The chemicals had made his skin ghostly pale and sickly looking around his eyes. He'd insisted on bleaching his hair into his fifties, taking his albino-like complexion to the frightening level. Trent's arms were muscular but the rest of his frame was thin and weak, his clothes hanging off of him like a skeleton.

"The fuck you doin' here kid?" He murmured, heading down the stairs again. Mark kept his shoulders square.

"I wanna join B street." Trent shook his head and rolled his eyes.

"Thanks but no thanks. We aren't hirin." Mark didn't back down, he'd expected this as well.

"I'm not askin'." He said, remembering to leave no room for Trent to evade him. He wanted this; he needed this. Trent laughed and rubbed his fingers over his face, tracing an invisible circle around his mouth.

"Excuse me?" He asked. The two thugs behind Mark chuckled to each other. This only fueled Mark's determination.

"My family runs the show. I want in." Trent snorted and pointed at him.

"Your uncles wouldn't care if I turned you away." Mark nodded, he played right into his plan.

"They'd prefer it." He grinned, making Trent raise an eyebrow. His strategy had him confused.

"Yeah." Trent retorted, unsure of the correct response. Mark put his hands in his jean pockets, revealing his tight shirt and the intimidating muscles underneath.

"And it would really piss my mom off." Trent grinned. Mark wasn't an idiot. His mother had never gotten along with the B street cook. They'd hated each other for years, starting long before his birth. "But who fuckin' cares about them." Mark ended, looking up at the tall, blond man. "You're the one in charge, I just wanna work for you." Trent tilted his head.

"I ain't hirin kid." Mark laughed softly with a closed mouth.

"You need a runner." He'd seen to that. Trent sniffed, making a face.

"You're a cocky fuck." He growled. Mark glared at him and smirked, dropping his head back to flaunt his chest and neck. Trent snorted and stared. Neither spoke for a long time.

"Boss?" One of the thugs grunted, breaking the silence. Trent flung an arm in to the air.

"Shut the fuck up, Russ!" He roared. Mark didn't flinch. Flying off the handle was nothing new. The jury was still out. Trent took the last two steps and settled on the cement floor in front of Mark, crossing his arms.

"You stuck Sam." He suddenly stated, looking Mark up and down.

"Yeah." Mark had forgotten about Don blurting the story to the whole crew. It had been a long time ago and quickly avoided around the dinner table at home. Trent nodded. The two men behind them shifted and the cook flopped his hands to his sides.

"Fuck it." He muttered. Then he turned and walked back up the stairs. "Come with me." Mark grinned and followed, turning to cast a smirk at the idiots below.

The long catwalk had been used to oversee the entire expanse of the warehouse during its heyday. Now it provided a good vantage point and access to the upper story. Trent clunked ahead of him, silently leading him to a ladder that ran up the adjacent wall to a door. It was about fifty yards down the catwalk, half the stretch of the building. Trent climbed quickly, leaping onto the ladder from the metal walkway below. Mark felt excitement tingling under his skin but he fought to keep a straight face. He could rejoice later. Trent slammed a fist against the door and it swung open, revealing a brightly lit room. They climbed the ladder and entered the door. Mark swallowed hard at his surroundings.

They'd used the attic-like second floor as a lab, utilizing the length of the warehouse and the difficult access. Mark recognized a couple of the faces in the room and he nodded, happy to finally join them. One man stood and approached slowly.

"Mark fuckin' Burnes. I was wonderin' when ya'd join ou' merry fuckin' crew." Mark grinned and took the hand that was stretched out to him.

"How's it goin' Ren?" He said as coolly as possible. Unlike Trent, Ren was welcome in his mother's house and he'd shown up for a meal or two over the years. The man pulled him into a hug, clapping him on the back. Ren was much shorter than Mark remembered, the older man's face barely clearing his shoulders. He was one of the oldest gang members, his balding head shiny in the artificial light.

"Finally gave inta the family shit." Ren chuckled. Trent rolled his eyes and motioned to the two other men in the room.

"Ace and Hal." He muttered, not even distinguishing between the two. They nodded slightly from their resting places against crates scattered through the room. Mark returned the gesture and watched Trent grab a bag from under a table.

"This goes to 51 North Greyson. Apt 329" He handed the satchel to Mark but kept a grip on the strap. With one finger pointed in Mark's face, Trent continued with a dark stare. "You lose this, you're done. You take this, you're done and I kill ya." Mark snorted and Trent frowned. "Uncle or no uncle, no little shit is stealin' from me." Ren rolled his eyes. Then Trent released the bag.

"I expect nine-fifty." Mark nodded and put the bag over his shoulder. Trent crossed his arms and stared at him, raising his eyebrows.

"What you want a parade? Get the fuck goin'." Mark nodded again and left towards the ladder, taking the rungs slowly to avoid looking foolish on the way down. As he traversed the catwalk a second time, he glanced below. It was almost a forty-foot drop to the floor of the warehouse. They kept it empty, probably to avoid easy police inspection or enemy intrusion and that made the fall all the more terrifying. He walked quickly to the end of the large building and took the stairs to the ground. He grinned as he passed the two men still standing watch by the front door. Both ignored him, preferring to stare daggers into his back as he left.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Ruger's parties were notorious for a reason. The entire house was filled with teenagers and the floorboards were vibrating from the bass of a massive stereo. Mark could smell the sweat and booze from the sidewalk and he took a deep whiff. This was his reward and he was going to enjoy it. He took the stairs up the porch, passing the couples that lined the railings and flooded the stoop. Once he opened the front door, a flood of music and voices overloaded his senses. Mark grinned and stepped inside, relaxing into setting. It was like crawling back into his natural habitat; he felt comfortable here in a way that his parents would never understand. Ruger's house was easy to navigate after the many years of parties and Mark made his way to the living room quickly, using his height to scan for a familiar face. Several girls brushed up against him purposefully as he slid by, hoping he'd pause for them. One grabbed his black t-shirt, tugging him toward her with coy smile.

"Hi Mark." She purred, slipping a hand under his shirt. He grinned and put his lips to hers, tasting the beer that lingered there for a moment. When he pulled away, she pouted and he continued through the room. He couldn't help but smile; drunk randoms were the best. Something slapped his arm and Mark whirled, coming face to face with Tayrn.

"Hey studdly muddly." She slurred, reaching up and hugging him. He laughed and picked her up off the floor. Tayrn kissed his cheek loudly and messed his hair as he put her down again.

"Hey T. Was lookin' for you." She hugged him around the waist and slapped his stomach gently.

"Every stud has a wingman." She giggled. "I've got a great girl you should meet." Mark snorted and took Tayrn's arms.

"Dance with me." He said, flashing her a charming smile. She made a face and tried to pull him towards the hallway.

"She's a cheerleader, one of the ones without diseases…" Mark pressed her to his body, bringing his mouth to her ear.

"I did a run today." Tayrn pulled away and looked at his face. Her drunken slurs vanished.

"Trent let you in?" She asked, flicking her eyes between his in anticipation. He nodded and she jumped up, wrapping her arms around his neck. Their laughs were drowned out by the music. Mark squeezed her waist with his strong arms and leaned into her ear again.

"Dance with me. I'm a drug dealer." Tayrn tossed her head back and chuckled loudly. She looked at him again and eventually nodded. He put her on the floor and she leaned her back against his chest. Girls around the room stared with envy, grinding harder into their partners out of spite. None of the boys complained.

Mark put his hands on Tayrn's hips, rocking side to side with her movements. Her jean skirt was ripped off just below her butt and she wore a black sleeveless top. He let the crotch of his pants rub against her backside and put his face against her temple. The music pulsed like a second heart, slowing him down and pulling him from his mind. It was almost cleansing to ride the animalistic lust in the room. The songs changed but the dancing didn't and Mark's body was burning underneath his clothes when Tayrn snaked a hand up to his face, resting it gently on his cheek. He turned to look at her and saw her eyes were locked to his in a strange, speaking way. They stared at each other for several moments before Mark did what he'd never dared. He lowered his mouth to hers and she parted her lips, accepting him before he'd landed.

Kissing Tayrn felt good. She moved against his body while her tongue flicked across his lips and Mark raised one hand from her hips to run through her hair. Their eyes were closed as they let their kisses deepen with each plunge. Her mouth fit perfectly against his and Mark cupped her jaw, releasing her waist completely to hold her head. Tayrn turned her body to face him, putting her hands against his chest. Each kiss was longer and deeper than the last. It was as if they'd unleashed years of unacknowledged attraction in one dance.

The music changed and Tayrn's eyes fluttered open. The trance was broken and she pulled away, pushing her hair behind her ears. Mark saw the guilt on her face and he regretted putting her in this position; he started for the hallway, giving her a tight smile with his red lips. Tayrn kept a hold on his hand.

"Wait." She walked past him and pulled him towards stairs that led to the second floor. A girl was standing against the railing, talking to a blond boy with gelled spikes. Tayrn smiled at her and pulled Mark to her side.

"Becca, this is Mark." He grinned and gave her a small nod. The girl immediately flushed and the blond boy slunk away, knowing he'd been out-trumped.

"Hi." Her voice was like a tingling bell, high and sparkling. He gave her a lopsided smile.

"Hi yourself." Tayrn started back to the living room and Mark caught her hand, pulling her back to whisper in her ear.

"Can we talk?" He asked quietly, keeping his smile on for good show. Tayrn looked at him with sad eyes.

"Craig is coming home in two weeks." Mark felt his heart still. Craig. He hadn't heard from or seen his childhood friend in almost ten months. When he'd graduated high school, Craig had enlisted and shipped off overseas, leaving his group of friends behind. Mark had been bitter for a while, feeling betrayed by the abandonment. But the resentment had receded and eventually the whole group had moved on. Except for Tayrn; he should have known better. She gave him a weak smile and patted his hand.

"She's pretty right?" Mark looked back over at Becca, Tayrn's pick for him. He gave her a reassuring smile and turned back to Tayrn. He didn't need to say anything, she knew him well enough to know what he truly wanted. She patted his hand again and released him.

"Have fun, alright? You earned it." She said, retreating back into the sea of dancing teenagers. Mark watched her go then climbed the stairs to Becca's side. After a few whispers in her ear, she blushed and nodded when he took her hand, leading her to the second floor.

**Oh boy. What have I done? **

**Just to clarify, there's been about a two-year gap here from the last chapter. Mark's 17, Tayrn's 18, Craig's 19. **

**Thoughts? I have a diabolical plan for these guys….**


	11. Chapter 10

**OK. This is a smut heavy chapter. Prepare yourself. ;) Enjoy. =)**

Across town, another couple had also made their way to the bedroom with big smiles and cheerful laughs. They had gently undressed each other and were embracing tenderly on the cool sheet under their bodies. Scout had her arms wrapped around Chris' neck as they shared long passionate kisses. He propped himself up on one elbow, cupping her face. The moon shone through the open window into the dark room, lighting him perfectly from were Scout lay. She set her head back and brushed hair from his forehead, grinning up at him.

"You're starting to grey, mister." She teased, spying the flecks of silver deep in his hairline. He stuck out a bottom lip, pouting with a silly face. Scout laughed, tracing her fingers down his chest. "But not down here." She added, petting the hair on his pecks. He snorted softly, looking down at her as she played. Tonight, everything was perfect in his world, including the woman beneath him. Her hand slid further south and Chris' breathing deepened as she caressed his crotch. "Or here." A coy smile was spreading across her lips and he shook his head, lowering it.

"That doesn't age." He joked, meeting her lips with increasing hunger. She chuckled into his mouth, bringing her arms around his neck once again. As he kissed her, Chris spread her legs and dipped a hand between her thighs. He rubbed her with an open palm and she arched, gripping his sides with her knees. Without breaking their kiss, Scout reached down and found Chris' growing erection, pumping it slowly in pace with their breaths. He groaned and slipped a finger inside of her body; her arousal matched his own and he lifted his hips, propping himself with both his arms. Scout let out a small whine, shifting up to him in anticipation and need. He covered her mouth with a kiss as he entered her inch by inch, drawing a deep moan from both of them.

Her arms clung to his back and a leg wrapped around his waist, pulling her up into his thrusts. She shivered and sighed, holding on as Chris pressed into her pelvis with deliberate delay. He took his time, savoring each stroke against her walls. Scout Burnes had fit him like a glove since the day they met and she knew how to hit every spot. She studied his face as he descended once again and she flexed, gripping him and watching his eyes clench closed at the sensation.

"Scout." He groaned, reacting out of impulse and plunging into her with lust. She moaned at the ecstasy on his face and she bucked up to meet him. He hummed as his filled her body to the hilt, surrounded by her wet warmth. She tossed her head back, breathing harder as she worked to meet his thrusts. Each time he rocked into her, Scout panted and gasped, digging into Chris' bare shoulders. A tingling started in her back and spread between her legs. Her volume increased with his rhythm and he saw her cheeks blush as she teetered near the edge. Slow sex evoked the strongest orgasms from Scout; and Chris grinned as she lost control of all motor functions. Her legs gripped around him and her head lulled side to side as she pleaded with him in whispers.

"I love you." He murmured in her ear. Scout nodded and repeated the phrase in breathy gasps. She touched his face and combed her fingers through his hair, jerking involuntarily beneath him as he thrust.

"Remember when we first met?" He asked, angling his hips deep between her legs.

"mmmm." She nodded, biting on her lip until the flesh turned white.

"I wanted you so bad." He moaned, lifting a hand to hold her face. She covered his big hand with her palm, panting hard.

"Yeah." Scout whined, curling her bottom to grind against his hips when he plunged inside of her. Chris sighed at the friction as pressure began to build in his spine. She was leading him to the point of no return.

"You were sitting on your car." He murmured, grabbing her left thigh and bringing it higher on his back. "With your legs open." Chris growled, recalling the sight of her in the jean shorts she'd been wearing. Scout grasped at him; her body had rendered her incapable of forming words so she let out a whine. He thrust in deep and upward, careful to hit her clit with his base. She arched her back and clawed at him.

"mmmmm" She started to shudder, the edge so close her body was writhing in a fit of pleasure. He fought the urge to give in and speed up, disobeying the impulses the tore through him.

"You know what I wanted to do to you?" He moaned, his fingers caressing the flesh of her thigh. Scout nodded, pressing with her hands at the base of his back.

"Yeah." He chuckled at her flushed face. One-worded responses were good. Chris leaned in and spoke deeply and softly into her ear.

"I wanted to hear you call my name." He thrust hard, giving her the friction and speed she needed and Scout bucked, climaxing with a holler.

"Chris. Oh fuuu—uucckkk. Chris!" He moaned at her stammering and picked up his pace for a moment, submitting to the screaming pressure in his spine. His hips flooded with warmth as he came with a groan, letting his head drop and rest on Scout's chest. She cradled his messy mane as he rocked with rigid jerks, shaking from head to toe. Then he gently laid his weight on her body, panting into her collarbone. Scout stroked his hair and kissed his forehead.

"I love you." She whispered. Chris wrapped his arms around her ribs and looked up at her with a tired grin.

"I love you too."

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

"You going to the game Friday?" She asked, fixing her skirt. Mark sniffled and hid a smirk. Football was fun to watch on TV, but he wouldn't be caught dead at a high school game.

"Nah." He stood up from the bed and zipped his pants, turning around to face Becca. She smiled pleasantly, her cheeks slightly flushed. Her eyes drifted down to his chest and she stared, blushing a little more. Mark's skin was slightly tanned from working outside on his car; the color accented the chest muscles he'd developed. His abs grew more defined as he inhaled, the rows descending under his waistband. Mark picked up his shirt from the bed and put it over his head, clearly in no mood to sit around and chat. Becca slid to the edge of the mattress and watched.

"Wanna hang out sometime?" She asked, hope rising in her voice as he smiled at her.

"Sure." He murmured, reaching into his back pocket. Pulling out a cigarette, he put it in his lips, dangling it expertly as he found his lighter. "See ya 'round." He added, turning for the door. He had no intention of seeing her again, but then again, he lied to all of them. Mark wanted a drink and the eyes that followed him through the house only added to the craving. He parted the crowd and spied Tayrn leaning against a wall near the front door. She was smiling and chatting to a beefy jock in a tight polo. Mark growled in his gut and took a drag on his cigarette, nearing the pair with heavy steps. He slid between them and the jock frowned, opening his mouth to tell him off. When his eyes recognized Mark's steely blue eyes and thick, dark hair, the guy snapped his jaw closed and nodded.

"Sup Mark." He said carefully. Mark didn't answer but just stared at him, exhaling smoke over the guy's head. Tayrn touched his arm.

"You goin' already?" She asked, grinning up at him. Her eyes were dilated and sparkling and Mark recognized the signs of one too many. Mark knew better to try and make her leave so he just nodded and turned back to the jock, leaning in close to his ear.

"She's got a boyfriend." He growled. Then he pushed open the front door, stepping out into the cold night air. Mark started to his car which he'd parked a couple of blocks down the street. As he trudged down the sidewalk, he spotted the twins' blue van. He crossed the street and slammed a fist into the side.

"NOT RIGHT NOW!" A voice bellowed. Mark snorted and shook his head. Without hesitating, he threw open the side door, revealing Pete sitting in the middle seat with a blonde straddling his lap. His jeans were around his ankles and his t-shirt was discarded with her tank top. The girl's mini skirt was hiked up around her waist and her underwear was dangling around her right knee. Pete jumped and glared at him with furious eyes, clawing at the door.

"FUCK OFF MARK!" He roared. Mark leaned into the car and pointed a finger at him. The blonde was panting and ignoring the intrusion completely, tossing their visitor only a small smile of recognition as she continued to rock against Pete's lap.

"Make sure Tayrn gets home." Mark ordered. Pete rolled his eyes.

"Sure asshole. Now get the fuck out." Mark raised an eyebrow with stony glare. Pete moaned and grabbed the girl's butt as she bucked against him purposefully. "WHATEVER, JUST GET OUT!" He cried, tossing his head back against the seat. Mark snorted and grinned at the girl.

"Hows it goin' Lacey?" She returned the smile and snagged a hold of his jacket collar.

"Wanna find out?" She purred. Mark chuckled and Pete shoved him out of the doorway, slapping Lacey's ass hard.

"Fuckin' whore." He grunted and she laughed. Mark snorted and slammed the door, taking a drag as he walked away towards his car.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Scout kissed Chris' chest.

"It's almost two." She whispered, touching the stubble on his chin. He grinned at her.

"Past your bedtime old lady?" Scout nuzzled him and sighed, continuing to trace his jaw with a finger.

"Mark's not back yet." Chris groaned and let his head flop back onto his pillow.

"That kid…" He started.

"We can't force him to do anything. He'll only push back." Chris rolled his eyes and Scout smacked his bicep lightly. "It's what I would have done." They lay in bed quietly, thinking about their son and the changes in him since that day at the hospital.

_He was so angry. For days, he stayed in his room and refused to eat, speak, or look at either of them. So Scout had called Tayrn. _

_Tayrn wasn't Mark's oldest friend but she had always been the closest. Because of age, Craig had left Mark alone in middle school and Tayrn had found her way in. She was at his side ever since and she would know just what to say._

_Scout paced outside Mark's room, wishing she could barge in. Her son had been a stranger for over four days and she was desperate to hear his voice. A deep sound broke through the door's barrier and Scout leaned in the frame, listening with every stitch of her being. When she didn't hear anything, she swallowed her pride and turned the knob silently, peaking through the small crack of the open door. _

_Tayrn was sitting cross-legged on Mark's bed, facing the window; and he sat next to her, his legs dangling off the side of the mattress. Her head rested on his shoulder and he, in turn, settled his on top of it. They were quiet as they slouched side to side. Mark's hand drifted into Tayrn's open palm and she squeezed it. _

Scout's eyes started to tear and Chris was pulled out of the light doze he'd settled into, looking down at her with a startled expression.

"Hey." He cooed, hugging her close and rubbing her arms. "What's that for?" Scout shook her head, the tears rolling down her cheeks.

"I don't deserve this." She said, her voice cracking with emotion. Chris frowned and sat up, leaning against the headboard.

"Deserve what?" Scout's thoughts drifted to Billy and she shivered. She hadn't thought about him in years. Scout remembered the night she'd found him standing in her parking lot. She remembered the anger and sadness that had been distorted into lust and passion. His face was burned into her mind. Billy Darley had told her once that they were the same; they were there to continue the cycle of pain and suffering. His words echoed in her skull.

_This is what we do._

"I wasn't supposed to be a mother or a wife or anything." She sobbed painfully into Chris' chest. He cupped her chin.

"What in the world is that supposed to mean?" Billy's eyes had been so sincere as he'd said it to her. Like he'd believed and accepted his fate. He would never leave that city. He was born in the poverty that he now commanded and he would die when another took over. Scout thought about Mark. His personality had been sweet but then he'd grown a dark streak. It had never occurred to her that he was his father's replacement. Not her darling baby boy. But each passing day had shown her otherwise. Mark was his father and Scout had denied it until now.

"I failed Mark." She whimpered. "I failed you." Chris took her shoulders and held her upright, making sure she was looking in his eyes as he sternly spoke.

"Scout Burnes. You are a wonderful mother. I don't wanna to hear anything different." She shook her head and her face was scrunched up in despair.

"My fate was set. Live a shitty criminal life here with my brothers and die old and alone or early and young. But I fought it and now I've brought Mark into this and…" Scout heaved a sob and Chris shook her shoulders.

"Hey! You did just fine! Mark's gonna have to make his own decisions. Just like you did." He wrapped his arms around her and she buried her face in his shoulder. "I don't believe in fate." Chris added. Scout cried on his skin, the tears running down his chest as she tried to steady her breathing. When she'd calmed, Chris pulled her away from his body, looking down into her eyes. With one hand, he stroked across her hip and over her stomach, resting his palm on her flat belly with a loving smile.

"I believe we make our own futures." He whispered.

**I was inspired by a random question by sunstar234….. ;)  
>Shout out to my AMAZING reviewers. You guys are awesome and I love ya!<strong>

**~Sparkly Blue Eyes, leeseelee, Dreamer2987, sunstar234, Beccatdemon13~  
><strong>


	12. Chapter 11

**Finally got something. =) The plot fairies granted me a chapter. ;) Enjoy. **

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><p><em>TWO WEEKS LATER<em>

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><p>"Hey punk." Russ grunted, letting the door open as Mark stepped inside. He nodded and flashed him a quick middle finger, heading towards the catwalk. His boots echoed in the empty warehouse and the cool shade felt good on his tight, dark shirt.<p>

"Yeah fuck you too, Darley." Russ growled. Mark winked and took a drag on the cigarette in his lips. If his mother knew he went by Darley, she'd start taking hostages. He took the stairs quickly, squaring his shoulders as he glanced down at the warehouse floor below. Working for Trent had been so natural, he felt like he'd been running errands his whole life. When he reached the ladder to the second floor, he climbed it quickly and opened the door, pulling himself up into the room with a flex of his strong biceps. His right upper arm burned beneath his shirt and he fought a hiss, remembering the tender skin. The tattoo was almost a week old, but the surface still felt raw.

Ace and Trent were standing over a table, arguing mildly when Mark stepped into the long chamber. Trent glanced over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow.

"You get my dough?" Mark smirked and pulled a wad of cash from his back pocket, hissing a puff of smoke into the air. Trent's brow lifted in surprise and he turned, facing him as he approached. "I'm impressed. Jazz isn't a friendly customer." Ace crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow with a small smirk. Trent right hand man was the silent type and he'd never said one word to Mark, but his approval was visible on his face. Mark grinned.

"I aint friendly either so it worked out." He handed the folded cash to Trent and the blond nodded, suppressing the smile that tugged at his cheek muscles. Mark knew he'd done well; two weeks in and he was the best Trent had.

"Well fuck me sideways, Darley. You got him to spill all five grand." Trent's eyes only slightly widened as he counted the bills. "My own personal fairy fuckin' god mother." Mark rolled his eyes. Leave it to Trent to give backhanded compliments. Trent's fingers flicked the edges of each bill and he tugged four out, raising them and pressing them into Mark's chest. "Good work, kid." Four hundred dollars. That was the best he'd made. He nodded and took the money, slipping it into his jeans.

"No problem. Need anything else?" He hated waiting around for jobs. He wanted something more. Trent shrugged.

"Nah. Take off." Mark nodded and turned, striding towards the open exit. Ace stood off the table.

"Yo." His voice was deep and loud, matching his thick arms and marble-like features. Mark stopped and turned, raising his head.

"Yeah?" Ace moved around the table next to Trent.

"When you turnin' eighteen?" Mark felt his stomach flip. The age of passage. Corny, cliché, but real. If you made it into a gang, at eighteen you were initiated. That's how it had always been.

"Three months." Mark answered. His throat burned with excitement. He wanted to scream. Ace nodded and processed the information, glancing to his side at Trent for a split second. The two men exchanged a small look then Ace walked back around the table, silently dismissing Mark altogether.

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><p>The hospital gate was easy enough to break into the first time, so the boys had replaced the locks with plain chain, giving the illusion that the entrance was still barred. Mark stepped out of his red 2005 Chevy Corvette and crunched over the loose gravel, taking the chain in one hand and yanking it from the fence. Weaving it through the links, he pushed open the gates and revealed the drive, taking a deep breath. This was like home now; and he loved going home.<p>

The blue van in front of the steps made him smile as he drove up. Pete had taken up permanent residence almost four months ago, moving in a few beat up couches and a thrift store fridge into the large room on the first floor. Mark parked beside the chipping van and strut up the steps. They'd patched up parts of the old place, shuffling discarded rubble into corners and clearing out most of the dust in the larger rooms. It was a perfect hang out and it had plenty of space; it was a hidden treasure for the reclusive group. Mark opened the front doors and immediately caught a whiff of weed. He laughed and took his cigarette from his mouth, exhaling into the air.

"Lucy, I'm home." He snorted, making his way to the right side of the front hall. Tayrn had used the front hall as a canvas, coming in during her free time and adding to the various graffiti that had survived the years. Her uncle's tag was surrounded by her paintings. It was her way of staying close even though he was long gone.

The pockmarks in the walls from bullets were turned into designs; spreading over the walls and the floors. When Tayrn got going, she really got going. They'd turned the old crime scene into a memorial for their glorious dead. Mark bowed his head as he ducked into the bullet-riddled hall. It was an honor to share the same space his father had once commanded. He'd never known Billy Darley, but he felt him here, especially in the chapel. No one went up there anymore except for Mark. The amount of blood and eerie red glow turned off any real live-in appeal. But not for him. He'd cleared out what he could and created a small sanctuary. That was his place to be with his past. To rest where his father had taken his last breath.

The hall opened up and Pete was lounged across one of the olive green sofas; he raised his head, grinning like a fiend with a joint in hand.

"Sup, Markypoo." He snorted at his own joke and took a drag, making a face as he held in the smoke. Mark rolled his eyes and Dave's head appeared behind the other couch. The two were identical, both had buzzed their hair into oblivion since high school. Dave, however, had gotten an eyebrow pierced, conveniently distinguishing them.

"Hey man. How's it hangin'?" He called, grinning. "Heard you were in town, bustin' heads." Mark laughed. It had only taken a quick jab to one of Jazz's drunk friends to convince him Trent wanted his money and Mark was willing to get it. His reputation as Billy Darley's son had spread quietly underground and, thankfully, it gave him an edge most errand boys lacked.

"That's my job." He replied, flashing a bright smile as he took a drag from the butt of his dwindling cigarette. Pete snorted and kicked his legs.

"Bad assssssss." He hollered. The three boys laughed and Mark walked into the center of the room. Since Craig had enlisted, it had mostly been the three of them and Tayrn. But even Tayrn had been busy. She worked at a restaurant most days, bringing in what little money they needed. Mark had only just starting making any real cash. He pulled out the four hundred dollars and flipped the bills open in front of his face.

"Daddy brought home treats." The twins hooted and Dave sat up, reaching out to high five Mark's hand.

"Seriously? We are gonna live like kings if you keep this up." He murmured, eyes fixated on the money. Mark laughed and tucked it into his jeans.

"Not if Pete keeps spending it all on fuckin' grass." Pete snorted and rubbed his belly, holding in another inhale. When he couldn't sustain it any longer, he laughed, letting the smoke out into the air.

"Buzz kill." He teased, winking at Mark. They all snickered.

"You know…" Mark sat down next to Pete's feet, shoving the boots off the cushions. "…I think Trent's gonna bring me in." Dave raised his eyebrows.

"What, like initiate you?" Mark nodded, grinning as he remembered Ace's random question. "But you've already—" Mark smiled and leaned back, slapping Pete's calf.

"But that makes it easier." He said, wagging an eyebrow. "He'll expect me to hesitate." Pete stared with a serious face.

"You ready to kill someone again, Mark?" His question felt like a punch; it took the air out of Mark's lungs. He hadn't thought about it like that. He recovered quickly shrugging.

"Can't be much worse than the first time." Pete just watched him while Mark rose and plucked a new cigarette out of his back pocket. It was questions like those that led him to chain-smoking. "I'm gonna hang out upstairs for a bit." He said, receiving nods. Dave leaned forward and swatted his ass.

"Congrats man." Mark smiled and bumped an offered fist, starting back the way he came, back towards the hidden stairs.

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><p>The quiet red room stilled his mind better than booze, smokes, weed, sex, anything. He sat down on the small stage at the front of the old chapel, looking at the cement floor beneath his feet. It was strangely cool in this room, even when it was warm outside. Pete called it creepy; Mark called it special.<p>

"Hey Billy." He murmured. His arm panged slightly and he glanced at it, rolling the black sleeve of his t-shirt up onto his shoulder. Mark smiled as he admired the onyx design on his skin. Tight tribal designs encased his arm, framing serif letters. He ran a finger over the black word and his chest tightened with pride.

**DARLEY**

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><p><strong>I know this took forever to update. Thank you to Sparkly Blue Eyes, you got my wheels a turning again. =) More to come soon, I promise.<strong>

**Love to my faithful. ;)**


	13. Chapter 12

**FIRST, I need to make very clear that the ending of this story is all thanks to leeseelee. She kicked my ass and got me going, giving me this incredible plot. I love ya girllll. SECOND….sorry it took so long. I've been stumped with EVERYTHING. But, big shout out to my girls Sparkly Blue Eyes, Dreamer2987, and leeseelee for always being there for me. Love you guys. **

**OK, enough. I hope you enjoy. =)**

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><p>He'd dreaded this day and when the bus pulled into the parking lot, Mark squinted in the sun through his sunglasses. He was only here to assert his place. To feel out the man exiting the hissing vehicle in front of him. Tayrn shifted against his car and rubbed her arms like she was cold, even though it was well over ninety degrees. She'd worn a black tank, flip flops, and jean shorts with her hair shaggy around her face. Chewing a nail, she watched the bus beside him, tapping a foot on the ground.<p>

"Stop." Mark muttered. He didn't even bother to look at her but he could feel her eyes roll.

"I haven't seen him in ten months, forgive me for bein' a tad nervous." She grumbled, continuing to bite at the stubby nail on her thumb. "Email only says so much." Tayrn added, almost in a whisper. When the doors opened with a swish, they both held their breaths.

Craig had left Stokely as a big, beefy jock who wanted to serve his country with honor. The man who exited that bus was not the Craig they'd known. He'd lost weight, his waist narrow in comparison to his broad, thick shoulders. His neck was much thinner, loosing the trunk-like buff he'd built in a gym. High school brawn had been replaced with experienced strength, grooming their friend into a dangerous weapon instead of a flashy tool. Mark loosened his crossed arms, slightly stunned by his friend.

At first, Craig didn't approach the Camaro but just stood, duffle over his shoulder and a stare on his face. His hair was so short, he looked like a poster child, cut nice and neat to fit on the television screen. Representing his country by form. Tayrn dropped her hand from her mouth and suddenly she was running, tearing across the rocky asphalt. Mark knew she'd be crying before she reached him, but he suddenly felt no jealousy. Their friend had returned to them, alive. For some reason, he'd forgotten the reality of Craig's choice. Now, staring at the result of one tour, he felt the weight of Craig's return shift towards relief. His oldest friend was home.

He pushed off of the car as Craig dropped his bag to the ground, catching Tayrn as she flew into his arms. It took no time before she was wrapped around his waist and shoulders, squeezing like a python. Mark could see her back trembling with tears of joy and he let a grin play across his lips. Taking of his sunglasses with a slow draw, Mark met Craig's eyes, watching as Tayrn's head wedged between the man's right ear and shoulder.

"Hey." Mark murmured, smiling wider as his friend reciprocated.

"Hey Mark." Tayrn sniffled and retracted, pulling her face away to look between them as she clung to her returned lover.

"Oh my god." She said with a teary voice. Stepping down, she stood back slightly and pushed on Craig's shoulder. "You guys can do better than that." With tears on her cheeks, she smiled as both boys embraced, clapping each other on the back. They didn't release for a while, putting true meaning into the hug.

"Glad ta have you home." Mark murmured. And he meant every word. All abandonment he'd felt was gone, filled in by the happiness he felt to see his friend again. A silent forgiveness had washed through him, halting the internal battle he'd waged while Craig had been away.

"Thanks, man. It's good ta be back." Craig answered, clapping him again. His hand brushed over Mark's tender flesh and he fought a grimace. The tat still stung like a scrape, a massive scrape, but it wasn't the time, or the place, to reveal everything that had transpired in the past ten months. When Craig's arms unlaced from Mark's back, the two nodded and smiled, letting out small laughs. Being angry with someone he'd secretly missed felt almost stupid now. As he watched Tayrn leap into his friend's arms again, he diverted his eyes a little. Despite the churning it brought to his gut, he didn't let the feeling overpower the joy he'd found in this reunion.

"Hey T, lets do this right. Take Craig to Stripes for the night." Mark said with a grin. Tayrn broke her lips away from Craig's cheek and flashed a huge smile before giggling at the puzzled expression on her boyfriend's face.

"What the hell is Stripes?" Craig said with a crooked grin. Tayrn stroked his buzz cut and laughed heartily while Mark crossed his arms again, this time with a proud, cocky smirk on his face.

"My playground." He purred.

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><p>Stripes, short for Stripes and Solids, was a pool hall and bar that had opened after a strip went belly up. Taking the real estate for a steal, the owners gutted an old bar to build the place. It was new but somehow maintained a sense of local pride, keeping most of the busy city folk away from their doors. Mark picked up on the spot and made it his personal haunt, earning him a reserved table in the back corner.<p>

Not too many people knew quite how young Mark was. No one really bothered to ask; he had the only ID that every waitress accepted: green. When he showed up, he never went without a healthy wallet. Tayrn had a fake from freshman year but Pete and Dave were more content to follow Mark's lead and bribe their way past the bartender. The four had been regulars for months so when they showed up, with Craig in tow, they found their table empty and a blonde, bubbly barmaid waiting. The large open layout was carpeted in the front and hardwood in the back, six pool tables occupying the front while a long bar stretched the length of the left wall.

Dave and Pete had met them outside and welcomed Craig like not a day had gone by. They went by Mark's actions and he'd been grinning the second he stood from his car. So far, Craig had said little besides answering basic questions. And Tayrn had occupied his mouth whenever she could. After a few hours of drinking and laughing, the sun dissipated and more people crowded Stripes, filling the room with smoke and the sound of clashing pool balls.

Mark nursed a third beer, watching Dave and Pete hustle another clueless pair of men at a game. If there was one thing the twins did in perfect harmony, it was pool. Together they were unstoppable and never lost a dime. It was that ability that paid for Pete's endless weed and Dave's budding taste for strippers. Craig was sitting next to Mark, his arm wrapped around Tayrn's shoulders while she rested her head on his chest. They'd been content to just be close, listening to conversations side by side.

"EAT IT!" Pete hollered, making a fist and punching the air while the eight ball disappeared into a corner pocket. With a snort, Mark hissed out a stream of smoke, enjoying the smiles of his friends. Dave caught his eye and made a face, bugging his eyes and pursing his lips. With a small jerk of his head, he motioned towards the front door and Mark's expression went serious. A few games slowed as Trent stepped in the bar, messing his white-blond hair with his fingers. His thin figure was highlighted by a white wife beater and jeans, both of which hung on his frame precariously. Nods were exchanged with the B street member, the most notable being the owner. It was no secret that all businesses made under-the-table treaties with the gang to keep their doors open. Ace wasn't far behind his boss, his shoulders swaying as he strut in wearing a grey, skin-tight tee and jeans.

"Mark." Tayrn whispered, grazing his shoulder with the tips of her fingers as she peered over Craig's back. He nodded, silently reassuring her while his bosses moved through the room towards a door behind the bar. Craig frowned, leaning into Mark.

"Who are they?" He murmured, watching with a dark glare. Unlike a true stranger, Craig showed no fear towards the new arrivals, only distrust. Scarier things had appeared in front of his eyes; that much Mark had picked up since they'd been reunited. Craig had been aged by time and war.

"Trent and Ace. B street." Mark muttered, taking a drag and tilting his head to dip into his friend's ear. Craig sat back and a frown continued to line his face. Just as he opened his mouth to ask another question, Ace spotted Mark and grabbed Trent's shoulder. He motioned with his head, speaking in muted lip movements to his companion. Glancing over his shoulder, Trent met Mark's eye and gave him a quick once over before disappearing into a door alongside the owner. Ace didn't move, taking up a post outside the private room while a barmaid handed him a longneck beer.

"They know you?" Craig asked, his body tensing as Ace continued to glare in their direction. Subtly, Tayrn met Mark's gaze and she sighed a little, knowing what had to come next. They'd avoided talking about B street thus far, and Mark didn't know how the conversation would go. When he'd left, Craig had been against gangs and street life. But that had been another Craig. The man that had returned to Stokely had killed, witnessed death, and walked away unscathed. He knew the true, gritty, frightening world that they lived in. No more sugar coating, no more delusions of tranquility.

"I'll tell ya 'bout it later." Mark finally said, blowing a lung full of smoke into the air. For now, he figured it was wise to separate his friends from his new occupation. The less Trent knew about his family, the better. But Craig didn't like the answer.

"Tell me what?" He growled, squeezing Tayrn closer as if he needed her melt into his very skin. She ran a gentle hand over his pecks and the door behind the bar opened once again, silencing any further words between the three.

Trent strode out with a blank face and Ace promptly tailed him, shoving his beer onto the tray of the nearest barmaid. Mark started to relax as they left, but his fears were reawakened when Trent abruptly turned around and pointed at him, motioning for him to follow.

"What the fuck, Mark?" Craig hissed, anger and confusion furrowing his brow. Without hesitation, Mark stood. He tapped Craig's shoulder lightly to try and calm his concerned friend. Dave and Pete held identical worried expressions as he left the bar, crossing the room with his cigarette perched in his lips. His palms were sweating as he pushed open the wooden doors out into the night.

It was hot and humid, the ground slightly wet from an apparent recent drizzle. Mark made a face at the feeling, hissing out his last drag and flicking the butt away. Ace was leaning against the wall outside, arms crossed. Trent could be seen down the lot, ducking into the passenger seat of a black GMC Yukon Denali that had been left running during his visit. Smirking from the driver's seat sat Russ, probably delighting in the cool cabin of the car.

"Ya want in." Ace said. Not a question, a statement. Mark nodded, skipping any confusion he might have had. There wasn't room for it. The large man stood off the wall and came within inches of Mark's face.

"Stripes' old man is twenty deep and he's dodging." Mark nodded, remaining silent. He felt as though a single word could spook Ace and end the conversation, his assignment, before it had started. "Ya want in, ya send a message." Suddenly his stomach felt like stone. Attack Stripes, his favorite bar?

"What do ya want me ta do?" He asked in a hushed voice. Regardless of his reaction, he wasn't letting this slip away. The corners of Ace's mouth twitched upwards in a flash of a grin and he leant forward.

"**We're** gonna hit it." Then he turned and walked away. Before he'd gotten to far, he spun around and continued striding backwards towards the car. "And get your hands dirty." Mark swallowed back a hard lump in his throat. His initiation. Three months early. He had to force himself to breathe.

He'd run out of time.

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><p>When Mark didn't return to the table, Craig excused himself quietly and stepped outside to look. He found his friend leaned against the building, smoking what appeared to be his third cigarette, judging from the butts on the ground.<p>

"Didn't think you were a chain smoker." He said, shoving his hands into his pockets as he settled on the wall. Mark snorted and continued to stare straight ahead, unfocused and distracted. "You gonna tell me what that was?" Craig asked gently, studying his friend's face.

"I work for 'em." Mark said slowly, finally looking away and down to the ground. With a tap of his index finger, grey ashes floated to the wet asphalt as they stood in silence. The air was thick and sticky, making Craig shift uncomfortably in his long sleeves.

"Ya sell?" He tried to hold his judgment, hear out his best friend. Mark laughed lightly and shook his head.

"Just collect, so far." Then his blue eyes snapped up and stung Craig with their power. "I told Tayrn not to tell ya." They both fell into a quiet lull, thinking about the time they'd spent apart. Only Tayrn's emails had held them together.

"So far?" Craig eventually murmured, hoping to encourage more of an explanation. Mark sighed and ran a hand through his dark, hair.

"I'm gettin' in soon." He said, leaving the rest unspoken. They both knew what was required to enter a gang. Letting out a whoosh of air, Craig motioned to Mark's cigarette.

"Can I bum one?" He asked, suddenly in need of the calm they'd once provided. Settling the butt in his lips, Mark grinned and dug into his back pocket, producing a second for his friend. When it was lit, Craig took a deep drag and rubbed a hand over his left forearm. He'd killed several men since he'd left. Some close, some far. But they'd all rested on his shoulders as he boarded a plane to come home. They followed him around like whispers, reminding him that lives were over because of his eye, his finger, and his training. Mark had killed, yes, but not intentionally. Not with meditation. Craig had spent months laying on his belly, waiting for the wind and focus, before slicing the air with deadly precision. He let his mind shift.

"Tayrn told me about Ruger's." He murmured. Mark froze, fingers wrapped around his cigarette in mid drag. When Craig didn't continue, Mark exhaled in a long, thin blow.

"T loves ya, man." He whispered, skipping apologies. Regret was one thing he wasn't capable of with Tayrn. Craig nodded.

"But she needed ya. And you were there." Mark looked up and realized it wasn't an apology Craig was looking for. He was thanking him. "I shouldn't have left. I'm sorry." Then Craig threw his butt to the ground, standing to head back inside. A feeling of need swept through Mark and he stood, searching for words.

"They're coming here." He said suddenly, louder than he'd planned. Craig stared and exhaled, hands slipping slowly into his pockets.

"B street?" Mark took a last drag and hissed it quickly, flicking his butt away. With a swift step, he drew close to his friend to conceal their conversation. He stood slightly above Craig now and it shocked him, his new height adding a strange power to his words.

"The owner owes them money. They wanna bust in, hold 'em up, and then have me kill someone to show 'em we're serious." He whispered, blue eyes blazing. Craig grimaced, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

"Christ."

"These are good people. Started this place on shit loans and tryin' to jump start the neighborhood." Mark added. Craig shook his head.

"How much money?" With gritted teeth, Mark placed a fist on the wall, leaning into it as he glared at the ground.

"20 grand." Craig's mouth dropped.

"Jesus, Mark." Mark stood up and gestured with a hand.

"They musta been borrowin' from Trent. I had no idea…" He trailed off, a trapped look appearing on his face. "I could kill a banger, thug, asshole, but these people…" He shook his head. "Maybe I could talk to my uncles, go over Trent's head…" Craig grabbed one of Mark's shoulders.

"20 grand isn't somethin' Trent's gonna forget about Mark. He's gonna come back." Mark nodded and they both breathed in the heavy air around them. Then Craig's hand gave a small squeeze. "Listen to your gut man."

_Listen to Billy._ Mark thought. Suddenly he needed to be at the hospital, sitting in the red drape of his father.

"I love this city." Mark whispered. "And I'm not gonna tear it down." Craig nodded and then pulled them both towards the door.

"Then we'll figure out a way to fix this. But…" He shoved the door open and stepped inside, sighing slightly at the hit of air conditioning. Then he lifted a finger, pointing at Tayrn from across the room. She was laughing, smacking Pete's bicep as he pounded a beer beside her. "I'm gonna take her home." Mark smiled and nodded.

"Yeah, course." Then he laughed. "Its been a while, I'm sure. Gotta an itch to scratch, right?" Craig only smiled at her from across the room; she caught his gaze and quieted, beaming back at him.

"I'm gonna make love to the woman I love." He whispered. Mark closed his lips, his smile relaxing on his face. Envy didn't incur the warmest of feelings. Shaking off the sourness, he clapped his friend on the shoulder.

"It's good to have ya back." Craig turned and they exchanged a quick hug, slapping backs as they parted.

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><p>"You keep running your hands that low and I'm gonna have to have my way with you." Scout whispered, swatting Chris' palms from her hips. He laughed and kissed her neck, pressing up against her from behind.<p>

"I wouldn't mind that." He replied. "You're the best lay in Stokely." He was purring in her ear and she shivered as the spot between her legs stirred.

"Mark's coming home soon. He called an hour ago." Scout murmured, trying to concentrate on the remnants of the dishes in the sink. She'd made dinner and they'd eaten without Mark yet again, the third time that week. Chris groaned.

"I can't stop thinking about you." He ran his hands down her hips again. "I want you all day, everyday." She beamed and turned her head, kissing his stubbly cheek.

"In that case, I'm gonna have to get fat to get some sleep." She teased. Chris purred into her neck.

"Do you remember the mind blowing sex we had when you were pregnant with Mark?" She blushed. If anything, pregnancy had only made her more of an animal.

"I remember practically crushing you at some point." Scout laughed. He snorted and pinched her sides.

"The best way to die. Crushed to death while cumming." She threw her head back, laughing hard at the visual. He grinned, hugged her around the waist, and they rocked side-to-side, looking out the back window over the sink. "Big or small, I'm gonna want ya til the day I die." He whispered into her throat. "I love you." She smiled and tilted her head to kiss his lips.

"I love you too." Scout whispered. He ran his hands over her hips again.

"Real quick." She laughed and shook her head.

"Mark will be home—" He pressed into her back and she felt him hardening beneath his jeans.

"Please." He purred. Scout moaned, warming between her thighs again.

"What if—" Chris didn't let her answer, his hands were already down the front of her sweats. She gasped and he chuckled into her ear.

"Let me touch you." He whispered. Her blood hummed in her veins as his fingers drifted down into her underwear.

"We're gonna get caught." She breathed, leaning back into him. Despite her words, she wanted him all over that kitchen. He kissed her neck as a finger dipped into her folds. Scout closed her eyes and relaxed against his chest.

"You make me so hard, Scout Burnes." Gripping the sink's boarder, she felt him pressing against her butt, rocking to emphasize his point. "I think about this…" He plunged his finger further inside of her, making her whine. "…all day. How fuckin' delicious you are." She released a breath, realizing for the first time that she'd been holding in air.

"God, you're turning me on." She whispered. "Keep going." Chris laughed and kissed below her ear.

"I wanna take you outside, fuck you in my truck like we used to. Remember that?" He stroked her, adding a second finger. "I loved fuckin' you, not carin' who saw." Scout relinquished a moan, his words were eliciting a burning blush on her face as she remembered her youth. The days when she did what she wanted because she could.

"I couldn't keep my hands off you." She whispered, grinding her ass against his crotch. This time, it was his turn to groan. His second hand fanned over her lower stomach, pressing her flush against him as he buried his fingers inside her scalding opening.

"You're dripping baby." He whispered. Using his teeth, he nibbled a trailed from her ear to her jaw, then down her neck. "So fuckin' good." Scout shuddered.

"Take them off." She panted. The unoccupied hand worked off his pants in seconds and his cock was warm against her back. Chris was breathing through his nose, letting inhales and exhales run down her skin as he dropped her sweats and underwear to the floor. Then, in a moment of impulse, he ripped her t-shirt, tearing the fabric down the middle in the back. Gasping, she moaned at the retreat of his fingers and the power exerted on the feeble material. He was getting more urgent.

"More, Chris." The tip of his cock poked between her legs and she rocked onto her heels, pushing her ass into his hips. Without warning, Chris' scruffy chin brushed over her bare back and he bit at the skin, surging her forward in reactionary jumps. Her tattoo trailed all the way down to her ass, the longest extensions of the black design ending at the tops of her hamstrings.

"Fuck I wanna eat ya." Chris snarled, cupping her butt in two hands and spanking her quickly with a hand. Tossing her head to the side, Scout looked back as he growled and smacked the cheek again. She allowed a small gasp and he consumed her mouth in a kiss, his chest pressed against her shoulder and along her side. Their tongues danced the way they used to, desperate and needy, pulling in for more with each breath. Suddenly Chris whipped her around and lifted her to sit on the edge of the counter. His eyes immediately went between her legs as she balanced on the small space between the sink and the edge.

"I'm the luckiest man alive." He rumbled, abruptly crouching to poke her wet flesh with his fingers. Tiny whines lined the air as Scout clutched the counter beside her, watching her husband play with her petals with a crazed look in his eye. Eyes connected, he gazed up at her and bent forward, replacing his wandering fingers with his tongue.

"Chris." She whispered, whining deeply as he looked up at her, groaning. His sounds intoxicated her, his groans and sighs as he delved with his warm mouth. Only Chris could do this to her, make her incoherent and aroused to the point of begging. "Baby." Cheeks aflame, she bit a lip, drowning in the ecstasy provided by his talented tongue. "Please." With a small laugh, he obeyed and drew away, helping her off the counter. She shrugged the torn shirt from her body and turned around, bracing herself against the sink once again.

His cock found its way fast and Chris looped his arms around her waist, placing his palms on her hands. Their fingers tangled together on top of the limestone counter and he thrust, his hips meeting the contours of her bottom with a soft smack. Turning her head to the side, Scout opened mouth, moaning at the stretch. The resistance offered by the position made them both whimper and hum, kissing continuously over her shoulder. As they sped up, Chris had to break away to breathe. He pistoned into her body smoothly, grunting in stutters as she wet them both. His facial hair tickled her neck as he kissed and nibbled it, swiping her long hair away with a hand. Their voices were a symphony of moans and soft cries, filling the empty house.

Then, the sound of a key in a lock froze them both, burning their bodies with another emotion: horror.

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><p><strong>BAHAH. Evil, I know. But EXPECT AN UPDATE SOON. like next few days soon. I promise. Bear with me on mistakes, I'm posting this with haste. <strong>


	14. Chapter 13

**Told you it'd be soon. Hope you enjoy. Oh, and again, huge THANK YOU to leeseelee. This wouldn't have happened without her. **

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><p>Mark popped his shoulder and started down the hallway. His eyes drooped, not from physical exhaustion but mental overcapacity. So many things jumbled around in his head: Craig, Stripes, his initiation, Trent, Ace…How was he going to make things right? He needed clarity and the only place he could find it was on the other side of town, hidden in a dark, forgotten building. His boots clomped over the hardwood floor and he heard the clanging of dishes. Flinching, he realized he'd probably just missed dinner, further injuring his relationship with his parents. They already questioned him constantly, the more elusive he became the more ammunition they'd have against him.<p>

"Ma?" He called, ducking his head and burying his hands in his pockets. More watery dish sounds clamored from the kitchen and he took a deep breath, stepping into the room.

"Hey." Chris greeted. He stood over the sink, running a plate under a stream of water. Turning his head, he gave him a quick smile. "Where ya been?" He asked, continuing to busy his hands in front of him. With a shrug, Mark leaned in the frame of the door, looking around the room.

"Craig came home." Chris raised his eyebrows and stopped, letting the water run uselessly. "Where's mom?" Mark added, tilting his head into the kitchen to scan it again. Setting a dish on the counter, Chris picked up another.

"Went for a walk." He said calmly. "How's Craig doin', you guys good?" Mark nodded.

"Yeah, we're all gonna hang at Tayrn's. Catch up." He stood up off the doorway. "Came to get some stuff for the night. That cool?" Chris nodded and finished the second plate.

"Sure. Tell him we said 'Welcome home.'" Mark smiled and tapped the frame, retreating slowly down the hall.

"Yeah. I'll catch ya later." Then he froze, halting just out of sight. A strange impulse ran through him, a desire he didn't quite understand. Mark turned and poked his head back into view.

"Can I ask ya somethin'?" Chris turned with a plate in hand, drying it slowly in front of his waist. His face was puzzled and yet held a small, pleased expression.

"Course." Mark stepped further into the kitchen and crossed his arms loosely, staring down at the floor with a slight frown. It took him several seconds before he finally spoke again.

"Billy. Was he loyal?" Instantly the room went still, the name hanging in the air like dense fog. Chris took a deep breath and shrugged a shoulder.

"To his own….yeh." Mark nodded slightly and then looked up.

"He protected people?" After a few moments, Chris' eyes drifted to the table sitting in the middle of the room. Rubbing a towel over the dry plate in his hand, he waited, then said something he'd thought he'd never say.

"Billy Darley was ruthless." Mark swallowed and the man continued in a hushed voice. "He killed many people for the wrong reasons, and he felt very little for anyone beside himself." The speech made Mark's stomach turn. Would his father obey Trent's orders? Charge into a local, favorite bar and kill mercilessly? Then Chris sighed, delivering a final truth. "But Billy defended what was his…his crew, his brother. And he died doing so." Too many questions swirled in Mark's throat, begging to burst from his lips. But if he said them now, revealed too much, he'd have to explain himself. And that he couldn't do.

He couldn't make a single decision. Should he swallow his discomfort and follow Trent? Or do what he felt was right deep inside his gut?

"Why?" Chris said, frowning for the first time as Mark contemplated internally. Quickly masking his emotions, the younger man shrugged a little, feigning vulnerability in his body language.

"Just wonder about him sometimes." He murmured. With a small, thin smile he uncrossed his arms. "Thanks, Dad." Then he disappeared down the hall, bounding up to his room to grab some clothes.

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><p>His body was aflame. <em>Dad<em>. He hadn't heard that word from Mark in a very long time. It sent a shiver down his spine and a fuzzy feeling grew in his belly. Chris let a grin spread on his lips as he listened to his…son. The smile became infectious. He listened to his son's footsteps above his head, moving through the second floor. Moment's later, he heard Mark bound down the stairs and leave quietly into the night.

"Chris." He snapped out of his stupor, remembering his hidden companion.

"You can come out now." He said with a grin, discarding the towel and plate he'd used to shield his remaining, painfully unsatisfied erection. The broom closet opened and Scout scowled as she stepped out in sweats and a bra. Holding up her ruined t-shirt, she cocked an eyebrow.

"Next time, try not ta destroy my clothes." Chris didn't waste a second dropping his jeans to the floor and lunging at her. With a small, exasperated sigh, Scout tossed the shirt. "Kinda hard to hide a quickie when you shred my insurance." He snorted and lifted her by the butt, only to pin her on the kitchen table.

"Don't remember you complain'. Now if you'lll excuse me…" Chris slipped her sweats down her thighs, revealing the pink, silky flower between her legs. A knee went in each of his hands and he positioned her so they met against the very edge of the surface. "I have some unfinished business with this." He purred, pressing a bare thigh against the warm entrance to her body. With a bellowing groan, Chris readjusted and lustfully plunged within, throwing his head back. Pulling deeper breaths, Scout spread her legs and enjoyed the fill of his throbbing cock, thrusting to take every inch of her.

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><p>Driving out to the hospital in the dark was a completely different experience than during the day. With the sun on the deserted roads, their abandonment fades and the trip feels like a country excursion, a path unmarred by the city that sat so close. But at night, the roads lay on the ground like an ominous trail, warning of the destination ahead. Mark no longer felt the fear offered by the drive, but embraced the ambiance quietly. It was the old asylum itself that truly affected him. But not how it should.<p>

In the moonlight, the building was a looming shadow, a silhouette in the dark. Approaching only made the shadow taller and hallow as it hung under the large trees. To an outsider, the hospital said "Keep Out" in more ways than expressed by the chain link fences on its parameter. So it had stood alone for over a decade, untouched and unseen until it was claimed by its heir. The last Darley.

Mark felt a tangible peace as his Camaro fell under the canopy of trees surrounding the driveway. Here, there was a power. When he stayed at night, Mark equated the experience to standing outside in the dark, knowing you could see the lit world without anyone realizing where you lurked. Mark felt untouchable here. And tonight, he needed that confidence, that security. He needed to reach out to the man who lived beneath his skin. His blood. His father.

Pete's van wasn't parked out front so Mark knew he was alone. For now, he preferred it that way. The heat made the damp ground misty, fogging the concrete steps that led into the front. Once inside, Mark let a long whoosh of air hiss from his nose and he stripped off his jacket. It was thick and humid, almost unbearably so. He retreated deep into the building, heading straight for the hidden stairwell. Each step was cooler than the last, slowing his pulse and chilling the tight fabric on his chest. When he stood on the top, his eyes drooped and a sudden heaviness filled his limbs. It wasn't late, but he was drained and the chapel offered a calm the rest of the city lacked.

Even in the dark, the red, stain-glass windows dyed the room scarlet, but not in light. Mark didn't need light to know where he was going; he'd walked the room hundreds of times since they'd discovered it. It was his place. With a little sweeping, the cement floors looked no different than freshly poured slabs. That is, except for the blood. There were several small pools and two large ones, the second much larger than any other in the building. Mark didn't know where Billy had died, but he'd heard the stories, knew the gossip. His father had died sitting in this chapel, and he'd died violently. Revenge had destroyed Billy Darley and he'd met his maker in a forgotten, holy place.

A single bed sat against the far right wall, the only intact one Mark had found. On it was a simple, clean white sheet, waiting for the return of its occupant. The cool material called to him and Mark stepped down from the stage at the front of the room, grazing his fingers over the statue of Mary that sat nearby. She and the bed were the only remaining things in the chapel. He'd cleared away everything else, cleansing the space.

It was significantly more comfortable, temperature wise, but Mark still pulled his shirt over his head, slinging it over the end of the metal bed frame. He followed suit with his pants and boots until he stood in nothing but his boxers. The muscles in his back rose slightly under the skin, casting shadows as he turned and shifted in the red glow. Looking to the side, he lifted his right arm and cradled his elbow in a hand, examining the tattoo that glared up at him.

"What the fuck do I do?" He murmured. With a sigh, he dropped the limb and sat on the bed, the old springs screeching. Slouching over his knees, Mark messed the hair on his head and it stuck out at odd angles, the pin-straight strands refusing to lay down on his scalp. "Fuck." He lay flat on his back and stared up at the ceiling. Guidance, clarity, insight; these were the things he'd hoped to find. Instead, Mark let his eyelids close and sleep crept up on him, finally silencing his mind.

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><p>"<em>I just…my mother never talks about him. I don't think she knew..." Mark let the sentence die in his throat. Admitting his mother had barely known Billy when he'd been conceived was not only embarrassing, but angered him. Tayrn's mother, Tiffany, smiled a little, reaching out to touch the top of the hand that Mark had rested on the table. <em>

"_She was young, Mark. We all make mistakes." He nodded, but only for appearances. No amount of rationalizing could mask the betrayal he'd felt at his mother's lies. "Tayrn's father was a dumb thug that I'd only dated for a month." Mark flushed a little, thinking about Tiffany as a sexual being. She was attractive, very much so, but to him she'd always been reserved. He couldn't imagine her acting irresponsibly, even though he'd known about Tayrn's deadbeat father for years. "And I obviously didn't learn my lesson because Jordan's father was a __**different**__ dumb thug." Mark gave a small laugh. Tayrn's mother offered understanding, but it only seemed to cloud the past further. When his tense face returned, Tiffany sighed. _

"_Here." Then she stood quickly, leaving the small table. He'd come to Tayrn's to give her a lift to the hospital. She'd picked up an extra hour at work, so Mark had waited and fallen into conversation with Tiffany, the topic quickly landing on Billy Darley. Footsteps thumped from the back of the small apartment and he sat up straight. "These have been gathering dust since Tayrn was a baby." She set a box on the table, opening the top quickly to reveal a stack of albums, photo albums. Tiffany frowned for a moment as she read the faded words scribbled on the spines before she plucked one out and opened it in front of Mark. _

"_I think this one had a few of him." His eyes widened as he stared up at her. _

"_Of him?" Tiffany nodded._

"_Billy. He went to school with my brother. I knew him for years." His fingers trembled slightly as he thumbed back the first page. They were all smiling. A blond man with a mohawk and a younger version of Tiffany, flanked by an older man and a graying woman. A barbeque. "Tayrn's grandparents. That's my brother, Brandon." Mark nodded and smiled. There were several of the four in various places, in yards, living rooms, one even on a fishing boat. He turned the page and his smile grew wider. _

_The blond man was wearing a football uniform, glaring at the camera with a tough scowl like the boys beside him. Tiffany was easy to spot in the line of cheerleaders at the front of the group picture, bright teeth and long, pretty blonde hair. She snorted a little behind him. "Brandon was kicked off the team two weeks after that picture." Tiffany shook her head. "He wasn't really a team player before he ran with Billy." She whispered. After turning another page, Mark saw pictures from parties and Tiffany's senior portrait. Just when he'd relaxed and started enjoying the blast from the past, he saw a dark face. _

_It was a picture of Tiffany's brother, whom she'd affectionately started calling Baggy, leaning against a car with a cigarette in his lips. He was grinning childishly and winking at the photographer, whom Mark only assumed was his sister. But that wasn't what caught Mark's eye. Inside the window of the car, was a glimmer of a face. Most of it was shielded by shadow but the left side was exposed to the sun. Mark held his breath. He knew those eyes; he saw them in the mirror every morning. _

"_He wasn't much of a photo person." Tiffany whispered, studying the frozen expression on Mark's face. Billy's hair was a dark gold, long down past his ears. He'd tied it back but some still hung down his cheek, crossing over dark stubble and a steel-blue eye. His stare held Mark like a grip, drawing him back to his father's face repeatedly until his vision hazed from lack of blinking. _

"_This the only one?" He asked softly. Without a word, Tiffany turned the page and Mark fought to hold back tears. The first photo was of Baggy holding a small child, a girl with dark, wispy hair. Tayrn. She couldn't have been much older than two, but she was smiling from ear to ear, laughing in her uncle's hug. They were outside, like most of their family pictures, and the brick exterior of an apartment complex sat in the background. As he looked through the series of pictures, he realized Billy was in all of them, standing against the wall, smoking next to a tall, black man. They both held beers and were relaxed, smiling even, as the activities around them were frozen and saved in a frame of film. This time, Billy was bald, which had made it hard to recognize him at first. But his eyes had found their way to the lens in one photo, grabbing Mark just like the previous one. _

"_Billy was a friend. Not the kindest of men, but…" Tiffany sat beside him at the table. "…he was good to me. And to Baggy." Then she touched Mark's hand again. "Your mother married a good man." Mark nodded. _

"_Chris has always been there for me." He whispered. Even though it was true, he still felt the sting of losing a parent. Chris wasn't his father, but Mark wished he was so he could recall his childhood with happiness instead of sadness. Everything had been lies. Even his last name. _

"_So, if your mother loves someone as good as Chris…" She leaned forward and reached under the plastic covering of the album. Using her nails, she gently eased out a photo, the only one with Billy's eyes. "…then she must have seen something in Billy…" As she finished the sentence, she put the photo in Mark's hand._

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><p>He awoke from the dream and felt something damp on his face. Reaching up with a hand, Mark swiped his cheek and realized he'd cried. He rubbed his fingers together, contemplating the tears, then rolled onto his side. Snatching his jeans off the floor, he rummaged in his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. Inside a credit card slot, a photo was folded neatly. He took it out and opened it, looking at the face of his father.<p>

"Protect what's yours." He whispered, recalling the phrase. It was spray painted in several rooms of the hospital, echoing like a voice from the grave. Suddenly the phrase resonated with him and it was clear what he had to do.

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><p><strong>More coming soon. I promise. I'm still proofreading so forgive mistakes. Wanted to get this up at a timely hour. =)<strong>


	15. Chapter 14

**On a real roll man. Enjoy. =)**

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><p>His index and middle fingers twitched so he rubbed them together, trying to hide the nervous tick. Mark desperately wanted a cigarette, craved the nicotine but needed the calming release. Much longer, and he was bound to give away something. There was only so much preparation that one can put into a plan, the rest was luck…and guts. Mark had plenty of the latter, but the luck was something he was uncomfortable relying on. Deciding on a quick smoke, he figured it wasn't wise to start the night twitching. The last thing he needed to worry about was himself. He was concerned about too much already.<p>

Stepping from his car, he pulled out his pack and removed a cigarette, balancing it in his lips while he lit the tip and took a long drag. It was another hot night, miserable with moisture. Mark sniffed as he stared at the warehouse. A few lights in the rear of the lot illuminated the area, leaving the majority blanketed in shadow. It was easy to assume the old, steel building was unoccupied because there were no signs of life, all the windows black and empty. Trent was clever that way; he'd painted every inch of glass, keeping out suspicion and unwanted attention. Similar to the hospital, the warehouse was left alone because of choice, not intimidation. Fear did that all on it's own.

The smoke started to settle his nerves and Mark leaned against his car. Just then the large steel door slid aside and a white van appeared from the warehouse entrance. It lurched forward and the lights snapped on, forcing Mark to squint and raise a hand. Russ stepped out from the warehouse and dragged the door back, grinding the metal across the cement. The vehicle stopped behind the Camaro and Trent swung open the side, flashing an evil grin.

"Alright kid. Get in." Russ jogged from the distance and leapt into the van, slinking into the back behind Trent. Ace sat behind the wheel and Trent sat in the backseat, beside a man Mark hadn't seen before. Another unknown man sat shotgun, looking back with a narrow glare. Flicking his butt away, Mark pulled himself into the van and slipped into the back seat beside Russ, avoiding the man's eyes as he did so.

"Ya ready ta drop your balls, Darley?" Russ grunted, flashing a mouthful of stained, yellow teeth.

"Right after ya take 'em out of your mouth." Mark hissed, lounging back in an attempt to relax. Trent chuckled from the middle seat and pointed at him lazily with an arm dangling behind his neighbor's headrest.

"Ya kiss your motha with that mouth?" He purred as the van started forward, quickly picking up speed and bumping over the uneven road. Laughing at his own joke, he turned in his seat, dismissing any further conversation. The ride was a quick one; maybe it was the late hour or Mark's nerves, but they were pulling onto the strip in, what felt like, a minute. Heart racing, Mark scanned the parking lot. Two cars. Tops, that meant four or five people. He swallowed and Russ snorted.

"Don't piss yourself, fella." He said, watching Mark study their target with a serious face. With a snarl, Mark turned his head.

"Ya got a thing for my cock, Russ? Cuz ya keep talkin' 'bout it." Instantly the backseat was thick with anger, the two men growling at each other.

"Kiss and make up girls, it's show time." Trent ordered. He tossed two black ski masks into the seat and Russ snatched one, narrowing his eyes at Mark before he shoved it over his face. Mark carefully fit the knit garment over his head, adjusting so his eyes and mouth were clear. Taking a deep breath, he cracked his knuckles waiting as the rest of the men prepared from the front. Ace exited the driver's side of the van and walked around to the back, opening the trunk. The heat rushed in over Mark's back and he turned, looking down at the contents as Ace picked up a shotgun and handed one up to Russ. The guns were passed through the van, excluding Mark. Russ taunted him, loading two casings and snapping the forend back over the chamber. Reaching from a place deep inside of him, Mark fought to remain steady. He had to prove himself. To everyone.

When everyone was loaded, the men climbed from the car. Their boots crunched and scuffled across the asphalt and Trent lifted his gun, settling it on his shoulder, barrel to the sky. By now, Mark's pulse was in his ears, numbing some sounds and enhancing others. He could hear his own breath and it screamed, loud and concentrated, in his mind. Walking behind the masked men, he couldn't hear voices but he could see Trent's mouth moving, telling them what to do. His eyes suddenly turned angry and he grabbed Mark's shoulder, pulling his senses into the present.

"I said, follow Ace." Mark nodded and found Ace's bulky figure near the front of the group. When he'd done as Trent ordered, there was a silent count and the two unknown men busted into the front door of Stripes, bellowing loudly.

"HANDS UP! PUT YOUR FUCKIN' HANDS UP!" Two barmaids screamed and one dropped a tray, sending beer bottles and a of couple glasses crashing to the floor. The bartender stepped away and revealed his palms by his ears, holding them outward slightly, as if to hold back the nightmare in front of him. One of the girls, a brunette with a dark tan, started to cry and shake. Mark could hear Ace purr and suddenly he felt a wave of anger. It manifested in stomach, hot and clenching, and rose into his chest, sucking up the air in his lungs and demanding more.

"Empty the safe." Trent said in a low whisper. Russ strut by and grabbed one of the bartender's wrists, yanking the rigid man towards the back office. By now, the anger in his body was forcing him to take deep, cleansing breaths and Mark rocked his heels and bent his knees slightly. _You're gonna do it. Just focus. _Trent chuckled a little and circled one of the girls, the blonde, and ran a finger through her hair. Then he looked up at Mark, noticing the heaving breaths. With a small laugh, it was clear he mistook the panting for nervousness when, in truth, it was Mark seething beneath his mask, waiting for his moment. The girl closed her eyes, flinching away from Trent as he lowered his head, hovering near her throat. Making a ridiculous sound, the man inhaled and purred.

"You a virgin, kid?" It took Mark several seconds before he realized Trent was addressing him, not the woman he circled.

"Fuck no." He snarled, hoping the insult would be enough of a reason to snap as he did. His response evoked a few laughs from the remaining men and Trent joined them.

"Too bad. I was willin' ta give ya a minute alone with pretty." The blonde's eyes locked onto Mark's and he froze at the fear in them. It was all for him. She was terrified of what he would do, what he could do, if he'd been offered the chance. Pushing the new feeling of shame from his gut, he replied with a firm voice.

"I like mine willing." Ace growled and it was obvious he didn't agree. Mark tried to steer the conversation away. "And I get plenty on my own, thanks." He said with a cocky smirk. Trent raised his eyebrows and laughed.

"Do ya now?" He snorted softly then put his face up against the barmaids, touching his nose to her cheek. Trembling, she let out a small whimper and her friend moved, stepping towards the front door. Ace was on her in seconds, grabbing her arms and holding her roughly against his chest. Trent let out another amused laugh at the small struggle. "I like mine with a little…." He dragged a finger over the blonde's opposite cheek, pushing her to face him. "…fight in 'em." Mark swallowed and his anger made his chest hurt; he was suppressing so much he wanted to scream.

Russ returned with the bartender and Mark let out a silent sigh of relief. A sack was thrown to one of the mystery men and Russ shoved the frightened bartender in the room by his collar, gun trained on his hip. Distracted by the thick bag of money, Trent left the blonde and crossed the room to stand in front of the bartender.

"I appreciate your timely cooperation." He said the words almost politely, his smile evident from his tone alone. Then his hand went to his waistband, in the small of his back, and he produced a .45. "Kid." Mark stepped forward and the gun was held out to him, butt first. "Unfortunately, I don't see much use in killing a beautiful woman to send a message." He glanced over his shoulder at the blonde, her cheeks shining with tears. "It's just a waste." Mark advanced and rolled his shoulders, preparing himself once again as Trent stepped aside and revealed the target behind the bar. The man started to blink wildly and backed himself into the wall, holding his hands out as he started to beg for his life. Russ made his way around the bar and stood next to Mark, watching with a smug smile as the hammer was pulled back.

Another pair of clicks made Mark's heart sing and he quickly turned his aim, holding the barrel of the gun squarely on Trent's forehead. All the men reacted instantly, raising their guns.

"Wouldn't do that." Mark bellowed. The sound of footsteps made the men snap their heads to the back of the bar. From the bathrooms emerged another masked figure, holding two glinting .45's, one aimed at Ace, the second held between the two unknowns. The grin spreading on Mark's face was unstoppable. His best friend was rock solid, getting the drop on a room full of thugs. He found his voice again. "Drop it." Mark hissed at Trent, motioning for the shotgun that still sat lazily on his shoulder. With a furious snarl, he didn't comply.

"You're dead, kid." The threat made Mark shiver, but he didn't let it show. Pushing the gun into the flesh on Trent's head, he bared his teeth.

"Not if I blow your skull in half first. Drop. It." He ordered, the power in his veins was making him strong and he fed off of it, let it seep into his skin. After several moments of staring, Trent slowly lowered the gun from his shoulder, handing it out to Mark who grabbed the barrel. He took a step back and grinned a little, glancing over at Craig, and then gripped the gun, weighing it in his hand. Then he swung it like a bat, connecting the heavy butt of the gun with the side of Russ' head. Trent flinched and watched the man crumble into a heap on the floor, grunting before he passed out cold. Ace shifted and Mark pressed the barrel of his handgun in Trent's forehead once again.

"Ah ah ah." He said, tilting his head. "You want a promotion, Ace? Cuz then, by all means, take another step." The fury on the man's face mixed with frustration. He truly had no means of escape. "Alright boys, all of you. Drop 'em." Using his foot, Mark kicked Russ' dropped shotgun towards the bar. The bartender stared at it in shock, inching a foot forward.

"Not yet, big guy." Craig growled, speaking for the first time. The bartender stared at him, then after a few seconds nodded, pressing back against the wall. Motioning with his head slightly, Craig addressed the women who still stood in the room. "Take a seat." Both quickly obliged and pulled out barstools, sitting on them with quiet complacency. Then the attention returned to armed men.

"Drop the fuckin' guns." Mark snarled. "I'm not askin' again." One of the men Mark didn't know spoke up.

"You're out numbered pipsqueak." Craig let out a growl of a laugh and Mark sneered. They'd planned this for a week, knowing the numbers and the probabilities. This time, Craig addressed them.

"How's your aim, fellas? Good?" Ace's glare burned holes into Mark's head, but he paid him no heed. Craig took a step forward, his guns coming closer to his targets. "It better be. Because I can drop you in the blink of an eye." Mark shivered, remembering the stories Craig had told him over the past several days. Sniper training had made Craig an incredible shot, to the point where he knew the human anatomy better than their high school biology teacher. Killing a person had become a science and Craig was well schooled in the field. At this distance, Mark didn't doubt his abilities. Trent broke his silence.

"I'm gonna find ya both. And then I'm gonna gut ya." Mark almost laughed. They'd thought of this too.

"You forget who ya work for?" Trent's eyebrows fell and he snarled, but bit his tongue. Both unknown, masked men slowly lowered their guns to the floor and kicked them towards Craig. Keeping one gun trained on Ace, Craig picked up one of the shotguns, pumped it with one hand and charged forward, shoving the barrel in Ace's spine.

"You got a death wish?" He yelled. Ace closed his eyes and hissed out a breath before he held out his gun and let it fall. Craig gave a small smile, then swiftly hit the butt of his .45 at the base of Ace's skull. As a second man hit the floor, Craig ran his tongue over his teeth and snorted. "The fewer of ya conscious, the better." Mark and Craig traded their handguns for the four leftover shotguns, shoving the smaller weapons into their jeans. Then they backed toward the door.

"You try to hurt these people again, I'll make sure you're done with B street." Mark barked at Trent. Panting with anger, the drug dealer didn't respond. Then Mark directed his attention to the bartender. "The second I leave, you're gonna pick up that gun and make sure these assholes stay put. And you…" He motioned to the blonde waitress. "…call the cops." She nodded and swallowed.

"Ok." Mark rolled his eyes a little and Craig let out a tiny laugh under his breath.

"Right now, if ya don't mind." He added. The girl scrambled from her chair and dug through a purse that sat on the bar. The bartender inched forward and watched as the boys neared the front door, a shotgun in each hand. "And tell your boss…" The man froze and listened, poised to pick up the gun on the floor.

"…no more loans from this asshole." To Mark's surprise, the man had a tiny smile on his face as he nodded. Then, without another word, Mark and Craig slipped out the door.

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><p>The room smelled like piss and vomit, two odors that, when combined, made Trent's blood boil. He'd only been in jail once, a long time ago. And he'd vowed never to wind up there again. Now, because of one kid, he was listening to a drunk take a shit in the corner. Ace rubbed the back of his head and, with a hiss, retracted the hand. He was luckier than Russ. The man's cheekbone had snapped, granting him a stay in the in hospital, handcuffed to a bed.<p>

"Which one of you is Trent Mitchell?" An officer barked from outside the holding cell. Trent stood and walked to the bars. Once he was rehandcuffed and brought outside the cell, he was guided to a payphone.

"You got five minutes." The officer grunted, moving to stand a few feet down the wall. Trent dialed silently, listening as the phone rang.

"Hello?" He leaned away from the officer, muffling his voice.

"Get Tony and get down to the police station." The man on the other end was silent for a moment before he responded.

"Trent?" The fury he'd been holding back was suddenly unleashed and Trent exploded into the receiver.

"YEAH IT'S FUCKIN' TRENT! WHO THE FUCK ELSE—" He stopped when the officer stood off the wall and Trent lifted his hands, still holding the phone, in an apologetic gesture; then brought the phone back to his mouth, taking a few deep breaths. "Bail out me and Ace. Tonight."

"Where do I get that kinda dough?" Trent gripped the side of the phone display, holding onto his anger once again.

"That's what fuckin' Tony's for, ya dumb shit. Now get movin'."

"Yeah, ok Boss." He barely heard the response before he slammed the phone down and snarled to himself. Rotting in a jail cell was not an option for Trent. And he wouldn't be held in one for long.

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><p><strong>More to come soon. =) <strong>


	16. Chapter 15

**wo0t. On a roll for ya.  
>Big thanks to Lisa. My best critic and muse for this story. <strong>

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><p>He would have rather stayed at the hospital, but it was late and he'd avoided the house too much already that week. Mark tried to recall his last visit, but all the conversations with his parents blended together. Concerns about school, friends, what he was up to…He kept them pretty much in the dark about everything. School: he hadn't been to class in over a semester, cleverly keeping this fact from his parents. The principle had conveniently lost the Burnes' home number. His friends: he didn't give them details. It was better that they didn't know about Dave's obsession with big tits and Pete's constant state of inebriation. As for Craig…Mark smiled as he thought about his friend.<p>

"_So, what's it like?" Mark wished he had a better way of putting it. War. But Craig nodded a little, hissing smoke into the air. _

"_At first…nothing. I didn't feel any different." His voice was quiet and concentrated, full of thought. "At a distance, it was like a game at a fair. Ya hit the target and it disappears." It was hard to watch Craig's face; the emotion gathering there was tremendous and heavy. "Then, when they put ya on the ground…" He shook his head and took a drag. "….its the way they look when they fall. There's this moment…then they just go limp and everything falls." Opening a palm, he ran the hand over his face, sniffing from the memories swirling in his head. "They can't show ya that in training. The thud of a body. That's the shit they leave out." Mark took a breath, the first since Craig had started talking, and let it hiss out his nose. _

"_Damn." He murmured. Perching his cigarette in his lips, he leaned over his knees. "You goin' back?" It was something that had bothered Mark since Craig's return. Seeing and having his friend again made everything fit like a puzzle. He didn't want to lose that feeling. _

"_Nah." Craig muttered. He sat back and ran a hand over his buzz cut. Raising an eyebrow, Mark glanced over at him. _

"_But don't they make ya—" When Craig shook his head, Mark stopped, frowning further. _

"_I don't have to go back." His friend repeated. _

"_How? They've—" Suddenly Craig shot from his seated position, taking a long drag and releasing it as he bellowed. _

"_I got dumped." Mark let his mouth hang open slightly, clueless. That isn't what Tayrn had told him. Temporary leave. That's what she'd said. _

"_What are ya talkin' about?" He finally asked, looking up at Craig from where he sat. Hiding his face, Craig turned his back on Mark and took a deep breath. His frame was bigger than ever, broadened by the thick muscles on his shoulders and back. _

"_PTSD. Fuckin' stress." Then he turned around and put his hands on his hips, settling his chin on his chest to avoid Mark's eyes. "I freaked." He hissed out a sigh. "Went ballistic on a superior. Got myself sent home. I ain't goin' back." For a while, they were both silent. _

"_Well…" Mark stood and went to his friend, putting a hand on his shoulder. "…I'm glad, cuz I need ya." Craig snorted a little and finally met Mark's gaze. "Gotta take care of my boss, who better to take along?" He smirked and was happy when Craig let out a small laugh. _

"_This is crazy, what we're gonna do." Mark grinned and clapped his friend's shoulder._

"_Not crazy. I got a secret weapon. I got you, man." _

Craig had come through for him tonight, and he'd left his best friend to his spoils, mainly Tayrn. She'd practically tackled them the second they got back, running down the front steps of the asylum.

"_Oh thank fuckin' Jesus." She swore, pulling on Craig's shirt as if she intended to engulf his entire body. The bottom of the black t-shirt started to run up his back, exposing the hard flesh beneath. Mark couldn't help but snicker as she fisted the material on his shoulders, burying her face into his neck. "You assholes. Makin' me worry." She muttered bitterly. Then she released her legs from Craig's waist and switched targets, throwing her arms around Mark's neck. "Ya know I hate worryin'." She whispered, squeezing his throat with her grip. With a choked laugh, he rubbed her back. _

"_We're fine, T. I told ya—" Her head withdrew from beside his temple and she snarled into his face. _

"_What ya told me was you and GI Joe over there were charging into a frikin suicide mission." Craig barked a laugh, shaking his head as her temper unleashed on Mark. As he did, she whirled and narrowed her eyes. "Don't think you're gettin' off easy, pal. You're both dicks." Then she released Mark, standing on the ground and crossing her arms. _

_Dave appeared on the hospital steps, a bag of chips in hand. _

"_DUDE! YOU GUYS LIVED!" Then he turned and pointed inside the building. "FUCKIN' TAYRN WENT APE SHIT AT THE GROCERY. YOU GUYS GOTTA COME SEE." He shouted from the steps and held up his family-size chip bag as proof. Craig raised an eyebrow at his girlfriend and Mark mocked her, crossing his own arms. Dave giggled in the distance and Tayrn threw down her arms. _

"_What! I was nervous." Craig snorted and lurched forward, scooping her off the ground and throwing her over his shoulder. _

Along with junk food's galore, Tayrn had snagged substantial amounts of booze with her fake ID. He'd had more than just a little, but combine that with his lack of appetite and excess adrenaline, he was plenty out of it. The house was quiet and dark, so Mark tried hard to concentrate as he pushed his key into the lock. When he finally managed to get the door open, Mark stepped lightly into the house. He listened for a second and, after hearing nothing, he decided the coast was clear.

The carpet on the stairs muffled the impact of his boots, but the house creaked, giving away his position. Mark tried his hardest to avoid the louder areas, but his intoxication made him forgetful, avoiding the wrong steps to land on the screeching ones. Finally he gave up and sauntered to the top, walking past his parent's room without care. If they hadn't heard him yet, then they weren't going to hear him now. Stepping into the bathroom, he flipped on the light and stared at the toilet. Somehow he figured he'd be bowing in front of it before morning.

The evening had been more than testing. He'd suppressed fear, anxiety, and so many nuances of feeling that his mind was numb. But his body was reeling, the whiplash of his actions hitting hard. No matter how much he'd laughed and celebrated with his friends, he still felt the weight of his gutsy move.

His cotton shirt lifted easily over his body, sliding smoothly over the contours of his stomach and back. Pulling it over his head, it dropped to the floor with a small swish. Mark cracked his neck, side to side, and propped his hands on the sink, leaning forward so the blades of his shoulders jutted upward. Using one hand, he turned on the facet and let the cold water splash on his sweaty skin. The fine mist turned to droplet on his torso, weaving their way down his belly through the ridges defined by his abs. He sighed at the chill and held one palm under the stream, bringing it up to wipe his face with the water. It dribbled over his forehead and cheeks, dripping off his nose and chin as he continued. The effect was bringing him back to earth, calming him.

"You were out late." Mark went rigid and gripped the sink with clawed hands. He'd left the door open. Glancing up in the mirror, he saw Chris hovering in the hallway, arms crossed.

"Sorry. Lost track of time." Even he couldn't believe how stupid his excuse was. The cliché made him groan internally before he'd finished saying it. Chris raised an eyebrow and moved to leave the frame of the door. Then he stopped, frowning as his arms came down to his sides.

"What?" Mark barely had time to say the word before Chris charged into the bathroom, grabbing his right arm and ripping it into the light. Nothing moved and Mark couldn't breathe. His tattoo. The one secret he'd hoped to keep just a little longer. Staring at the floor, he avoided Chris' face, wishing he'd passed out on the couch at the hospital like he'd wanted to. The trouble he'd be in would be far less.

"Darley?" Chris whispered, staring at the ink like it was a ghost. In many ways it was. Billy Darley had always haunted his life. First, by lurking just outside the turf lines, like a panther in a cage. Second, by stealing the woman he loved. And now, years after the bastard had died, he was taking his son. Claiming his heir from the grave. Mark pulled on his arm a little, trying to distance himself from the pain in Chris' voice.

"Why?" The question was all Chris could manage to croak out. His son. The dark-haired boy on his shoulders. The tinkling laughter in his ears. The smiling baby he'd rocked to sleep. Branded by a life of danger, hate, and death. It had destroyed Billy, it would destroy Mark. The boy didn't answer but just glared at the tile beneath their feet. Suddenly Chris was frantic. "ANSWER ME!" He bellowed. Like night and day, Mark's face changed. From a hidden place, a stranger appeared in a flash of icy blue eyes.

"I don't have to explain myself to you." He growled. The voice, the tone, the eyes…Chris wanted to strangle Billy Darley from Mark's body. His blood slowed, terrified at the likeness. Before he'd recovered, Mark ripped from his hold and backed from the bathroom, nostrils flaring and jaw flexing. Anger started to sink into Chris' mind. He was the parent, regardless of who Mark thought he was.

"I'm your father." Chris growled. The answer was a cold laugh. Raising his top lip, Mark jutted out his jaw in a defiant snarl.

"No you're not."

Suddenly every hateful thing Chris could have said flowed from his mouth. All the years of suppressed bitterness towards Mark's origins unraveled in a hidden fury.

"YOU THINK TATTOOING HIS NAME ON YOUR ARM MAKES YOU HIS SON?" He yelled, throwing his arms in the air as he moved forward from the room. Mark didn't budge, sizing up the raving man with seething breaths. "IF HE WERE ALIVE, HE'D HAVE NOTHING…NOTHING!...TO DO WITH YOU!" Standing over Mark, Chris unleashed it all.

"Chris?" Scout's voice was groggy and confused; but within moments of stepping into the hall she was pushing on her husband's chest, trying to pry him away from her son. "Chris, what the—"

"BILLY DARLEY WOULD HAVE NEVER LOVED YOU!" Tears burned his face as he ranted, fighting against the hands of his wife. Mark was unwavering, the stone stare fixed and unrelenting upon his face. It was done. The child was gone and replaced with the man in his veins. "YOU THINK HE WOULD HAVE FED YOU? TAKEN CARE OF YOU? HELD YOU?"

"CHRIS, STOP!" Scout was crying as she tried to tug him away.

"THAT FUCKER WOULDN'T HAVE LET YOU INTO HIS LIFE AT ALL! YOU ARE A BURNES! YOU'RE HIS ENEMY!" Mark bared his teeth, hissing air through his lips. Then Chris lowered his voice, growling deep. "And now you've gone and slapped his fuckin' name on your arm." His struggling ebbed as he reached the end of his point. But Scout froze, holding his bicep in a vice as she comprehended the words.

"You did what?" She murmured, finally seeing the black letters on Mark's arm. Suddenly, her son snapped from his quiet stare, leaning into Chris' face to retort.

"I'm more like Billy than you know." He snarled as he continued. "Wanna know what I've been up to? I've been runnin' errands for Trent, makin' money for a GANG. Then, I drink, smoke, and fuck AS MUCH AS I PLEASE before comin' home to YOU TWO." He didn't flinch when Chris advanced once again.

"YOU THINK THIS IS FUNNY?" Chris screamed, shoving a finger in Mark's face. While still attempting to referee the fight, Scout was stunned into silence, staring at her son like he was an imposter.

"I THINK ITS FUCKIN' HILARIOUS, YOU THINKIN' YOU'RE MY FATHER!" Mark spat. "CUZ YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW ME!" The two men glared and Mark panted, feeling the weight of his rage. He wasn't a child any longer. "DARLEY IS MY BLOOD! I AM MARK FUCKIN' DARLEY!" When he screamed the last words, Chris fumed and Scout stilled, watching as Mark started backwards down the hall.

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><p>Sleep wasn't possible after that. In fact, Mark couldn't even bring himself to leave the house. So he just sat, perched on the front stoop like a stray dog. His parents hadn't made a sound since he'd stormed from the second story, and he wished someone had chased him. As much as he didn't want to admit it, Chris' words had burned deep, asking questions that Mark had always avoided.<p>

Could someone like Billy Darley have loved him? He'd been so blinded by anger at betrayal and lies; Mark had forgotten the childhood he'd been blessed with. It could have been so different had Chris never entered the picture. Mark thought about Tayrn's life, her struggling mother and nonexistent father, and realized his past could have been the same. And then he'd remembered the fear in the junkie's eyes, the criminal reputation of Billy Darley. That man wouldn't have held his hand to cross the street. He wouldn't have kissed his scrapes. Chris had done those things. Mark had grown up in a happy home, loved and adored. Then guilt set in, like a hard slap. He'd openly mocked his parents after lying to them for over two years in retaliation. His sins now matched their own. And he didn't deserve them.

The sun started to rise and a foggy coat of dew had made his pants wet. His chest was still bare, but he'd been content to sit in the heat that way. Plucking the last of his cigarettes from his pack, Mark lit it and watched the faint orange glow appear over the city. As he took a long drag, he rubbed his hand over his tattoo for the hundredth time. But, as it had all night, the name held no answers. So he sighed out the smoke and hung his head over his knees. In the early morning, Mark sat in silence, once again lost in his own skin.

"Hey." He turned quickly on the step, jeans scuffing on the cement. Chris stood behind the screen door, hands in his pockets. He'd opened the door so quietly, Mark didn't know how long he'd been standing there.

"Hey." Mark whispered. His throat was sore and scratchy, the culprit a mixture of screaming and chain smoking. His answer was a silent truce and Chris pushed open the storm door gently, stepping out onto the porch in his bare feet. Wearing gym shorts and an undershirt, he looked like he'd been awake all night as well. His hair was a mess and there were large, dark bags under his eyes. Moving forward, Chris sunk down to sit beside Mark on the step, leaning back on his palms as he gazed out at the sun.

Neither spoke for a while. What do you say? The amount of hurt and anger they'd released had left them speechless, wondering if forgiveness was even possible.

"I shouldn't have said those things." Chris started. "I barely knew the man, I can't speak for 'im." Mark nodded but didn't respond. After thinking about it, it wasn't a big stretch to believe everything Chris had proclaimed about Billy. "I've always been jealous." That, Mark hadn't expected. He turned his head and peeped his eyes over his right shoulder to see Chris' face. The man relinquished a weak smile and sighed. "He was a sight, that guy. Intimidating, powerful…and he knew how to get what he wanted." Shaking his head, the smile vanished. "Even from your mother." Mark's stomach twisted but he nodded regardless. "But…that was her decision. I can't take that out on you." Then he laughed a little, running a hand over his face. "And I love that woman too much to hold it on her. Fuck. I forgave her the minute she'd told me." Mark let a small smile cross his lips. His parents had always loved each other. That much had been constant. Despite any obstacle, they'd made it through because of their devotion. Chris locked onto Mark's eyes and leaned forward, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Billy Darley was killed by his choices. This life. When you were born, I promised myself I wouldn't let that happen to you." Mark's throat prickled when he saw tears in Chris' eyes. He'd run out of his own hours ago, but the sadness was threatening to conjure up more.

"But I'm not Billy." Mark whispered. Chris dropped his eyes and nodded slightly.

"I know." Turning his body a little, Mark faced Chris on the step.

"I know I'm not what you wanted. I'm not a scholar or an athlete…and I might not have your genes or your patience…but I have your heart." Chris looked up and Mark felt the jolt of what he said. "Billy is my father. He gave me a destiny I can't fight…and I don't want to. I want to protect what's mine, what was his…" Taking a deep breath, he found the truth from a place deep in his gut. "…But you're my dad. When I had to choose between right and wrong, it was your words that led me." Chris' eyebrows rose, remembering the odd questions Mark had asked a week ago. At the time, it had meant nothing, but now, he realized it had been guidance.

"About loyalty?" Chris asked. With a shrug, Mark nodded.

"Who to stand by, more like." Then his blue eyes stung with moisture and he looked up. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—" He couldn't finish the phrase, his voice cracking. Chris leaned forward and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, waiting for the dry sobs to slow.

"We're both assholes." Chris whispered, evoking a tiny laugh from Mark. Taking deeper breaths, the younger man calmed and took a drag before he continued.

"I didn't know who I was. All I wanted was power. Control." Gesturing to his arm, Mark sighed. "And Billy had that. Made me think I was over all this stuff. That I was tougher than it." Mark shook his head. "Then I got my chance, and I realized I didn't want it." He took another drag and hissed it out into the morning light. "Not like that." Chris nodded but didn't ask for clarification. For now, they were at peace.

"I'm sorry, Dad." Mark whispered the words but Chris felt like he'd sung them the way his heart soared. Squeezing on Mark's shoulders, Chris held him close, pressing their foreheads together from the side. Tears shone on his face, but he was smiling when he spoke.

"I love ya, Mark." His son gave a small, silent sob, but nodded. "I always have, and always will."

"Me too, Dad." Mark murmured.

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><p><strong>Lots o' going ons in that one. ;) Hope you enjoyed. Leave me love.<br>LOVE TO MY FAITHFULS!**


	17. Chapter 16

**Forgive me for the delay. I'm currently running on empty when it comes to inspiration. Please leave me love, I'm in need of it now more than ever. Enjoy. =)**

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><p><em>What a way to spend the afternoon. <em>Craig grinned as the thought passed through his head. He felt like a god, invincible after holding a gun to a drug dealer's forehead the night before. Letting out a growl, he envisioned himself as a greek statue.

"Shit Craig." Tayrn whimpered, grasping at his back. He looked down at her and let out another rumble, rocking his hips harder. The bare skin of his waist hit against her thighs and she let out a whine, clawing at the muscles around his spine. Godly indeed. From the sounds she was making, Craig figured Tayrn would agree.

"Baby." She pleaded as a hand tugged on his neck. Without slowing, he dipped his head low and met her open mouth, grinning at her urgent pulling on the back of his skull. They'd been taking advantage of the new hangout as much as possible since his return. Being gone for ten months had left Tayrn craving him night and day. And it was only polite to oblige. So when they'd found themselves alone, except for Mark who was sleeping in the chapel, they'd decided it was a perfect opportunity for a quick round on the couch.

He felt a familiar pulse in his hips, starting at the base of his spine and radiating outwards. The sensation traveled through his bones and filled his shaft, leaving him breathless with pleasure. Digging his hands into the armrest above Tayrn's head, he started thrusting faster, chasing the climax ahead. The delicious hum brought a growl to his throat and he grit his teeth, snarling.

A flash of light burned his eyes and he hissed, raising his face for a moment. As he watched, a grey sedan slid into the hospital lot quietly, the car inching slowly towards the front steps. It was silent and he wouldn't have noticed it, had the sun not reflected off the windshield into his eye.

"What the—" He murmured, slowing his body as his concentration focused outside. Tayrn whined and grabbed his right butt cheek, worming beneath him.

"Don't stop, Craig. I'm so close baby." Swallowing thickly, his heart pounded in his throat. When he didn't answer, she looked up at his face. "Craig?" He was frozen completely, staring out the window.

"Tayrn, go upstairs and wake up Mark." He murmured, lifting his body. She frowned and turned her head to follow his eyes, panting with frustration and confusion.

"Why?" Then she spotted the strange car and her forehead fell flat.

"Go." Craig whispered, pushing lightly on her shoulder. This time she moved quickly, yanking her jeans from the floor and tugging them up her legs. Readjusting her tank, she ran barefoot from the room and headed towards the quicker, hidden flight of stairs to the chapel.

Craig pulled his jeans up his thighs, replacing them slowly as he watched from the window. The doors of the car opened in unison and when the faces appeared, he bolted, running for the stash of guns he and Mark had hidden in another room. Trent, and his men, had found them.

* * *

><p><em>The grass felt strange under his fingers, almost like waves of water. So smooth and velvety he could sink into it. But his body remained aloft on the soft surface and he looked up, grinning as he weaved his hands through the blades. <em>

"_Mark." An outlined figure approached, darkened in contrast to the bright sun. He tried to squint in the blinding light, raising a hand to his forehead to shade his eyes. _

"_Yeah?" The voice wasn't familiar and he tried to stand up, meet his visitor head on. But his body didn't respond to the command. As the figure closed in on him, it remained silent. Tall and broad, not making a sound other than the rustle of boots against grass. "What do ya want?" Mark asked._

"_Hey kiddo." His stomach knotted and he gulped down air. That wasn't possible. As he watched, the figure's hand appeared, lowering from its face. Smoke hovered over the cigarette between its fingers. _

"_Billy?" Every emotion was coursing through him in rampant waves; like a storm he was flooded and unable to comprehend the man in front of him. Mark's mouth hung open and tears stung in the corners of his eyes. Then the shadow moved. With graceful delay, it sunk into a crouch, leaning into view. _

_And the sun was finally blocked, a face revealed. But it wasn't Billy's face. _

_Mark gaped in horror as his own image grinned at him, lifting a cigarette to its lips. Taking a drag it chuckled. _

"_Mark." He didn't understand. It was him, but it wasn't. The face was his, but the scars weren't. The jacket wasn't his. He was Billy and Billy was him. _

"_Mark." Suddenly he was clawing handfuls of the grass from the ground, trying to escape. Escape who?_

"_MARK!" _

Tayrn shook hard and Mark sat up, panting with residual fear.

"Mark, there's someone here. Craig said to wake you up, I don't know who it could be…" She babbled on in scared whispers but he was up, off his makeshift cot and heading to the stairs. He'd gone to sleep shirtless, and now he was on full alert, running around in nothing but a pair of jeans.

"Where's Craig?" He whispered urgently. Tayrn was panicking, her mouth going one-hundred-miles-per-hour while nothing answered his question. Taking her shoulders in his hands, Mark shook her once. "Taryn. Stop." She stuttered a few breaths, tears shining in her eyes. Something had spooked her. And if Craig had sent her up without him, he'd wanted her away from whatever was coming. Mark listened for a second, testing the quiet around him. Whatever was on its way, Craig hadn't found it. That wouldn't be silent.

"Come on." He whispered, tugging her through the dark exit. They were both barefoot, carefully creeping on the dirty floors. But Mark felt naked. He was unarmed. He never carried a gun; he'd never needed to. Gritting his teeth, he realized that was stupid. He'd pointed a gun in Trent's face, he should have been carrying everyday after that.

"What are we gonna do?" She was frantic again, squeezing his hand in the darkness. Mark took a few breaths, planning. This was their turf. They knew it better than anyone.

"We'll take care of it." He answered. Light from the hallway marked the end of the stairs and he peeked out quickly, glancing around the area. It was eerily quiet and his pulse pounded in his ears. A feeling of anger had started to grow, his limbs growing tense. He made loose fists as he stepped out into the open. Tayrn remained in the dark, watching as Mark looked toward the hall. The hidden stair emptied into their main living area, only a floor above the lobby.

"Mark." Craig jogged from the main room, carrying several guns. With a sigh of relief, Mark nodded silently, taking a shotgun off his friend along with a .45 handgun. Shoving the latter in his jeans, he signaled to Tayrn, who was already nervously holding onto Craig's arm.

"Take this little one," he put a .38 in her hand, "and stay upstairs." Mark stepped in close as she held the gun. Craig pumped the slide for her and a bullet clicked into the chamber, echoing in the cement hall. Putting his hands outside hers, he placed her fingers on the grip and trigger.

"Just point and squeeze, baby." He cooed in her ear. "Don't think. If someone comes at you, pull the trigger. Cuz they'll do the same to you." Tears filled her eyes but she nodded, sniffling in an attempt to appear strong. Mark touched her shoulder.

"Don't come down here. No matter what you hear." She glanced over her shoulder at Craig and he nodded, confirming the statement. "It's the best place to hide. Don't leave it." Then he was shoving her towards the dark stairs.

"Craig—" The panicked expression on her face was back and she was clutching a fistful of her boyfriend's shirt. Mark felt for her, but time was precious. Craig knew this. With long kiss, he gripped the back of her head, then quickly released her.

"Go. I'll find you when it's over." She shuddered and he pushed her into the dark. "Now." He added with a growl. Footsteps told them she'd climbed the stairs in a hurry and the boys locked eyes.

"What's the plan?" Mark whispered. Craig led them away towards their "living room". Leaping over the bulky couches, they ran into the second stairwell. Whizzing past the clusters of old bullet holes, Mark felt sick. His father had been killed in a gunfight, in this very building. Would that be his fate? He swallowed and panted while he ran.

The pair ducked in Ward 13, stopping just inside the doorway. It was very dark in that part of the hospital, and the boys were cloaked from sight.

"It's five guys." Craig panted, pressing his back against the wall. "I only got a quick look, but Trent was there. That big guy, his buddy…" Mark groaned.

"Ace." Craig swallowed and nodded.

"Yeah, that's his name. He's here too. Didn't recognize the others. All packin', that's for sure." They breathed for a moment, thinking as they listened below.

"What should we do?" Mark asked again, praying his friend had a solution. They were outnumbered, badly. And he knew Trent would have no problem ending them.

"We wait for 'em to come to us." Craig murmured. Twisting his head around the doorframe, he peeked then crept back into the stairwell. "They will come this way, up these stairs. It's the only cleared out way. They'll tumble right into our crosshairs."

"Shit." Mark whispered, looking down the railings, spiraling down to the floor. "We can't get a good shot." He muttered, raising a gun as he closed one eye. No matter the distance, there was no way they'd kill anyone at the angle.

"But they'll return fire." Craig murmured with a grin. "And I'm pretty sure they're not carrying four or five spare clips around." Mark returned the smile.

"Fuck, you're smart army boy." With a wag of his brow, Craig pumped his shotgun.

"And when they get up here…" He swung his gun to the top of the stairs. "…it'll be like shooting fish in a barrel."

* * *

><p>They'd made bail only hours after the sun rose, leaving the police station reeking of jail and revenge. Trent was impulsive and furious. All he could think about was Mark Burnes, the punk who'd double crossed him over a stupid bar. It hadn't taken too much to find out where the kid and his friends hung out. No one goes completely unnoticed.<p>

Less than twenty-four hours after Mark had pointed a gun into his face, Trent was pulling into the abandoned asylum, loading bullets into a clip from the passenger seat. Ace growled as he exhaled and Trent cast a glance to the rearview mirror. His friend was angrier than he was, a black bruise forming on the back of his neck. With a smirk, Trent slid the magazine into his gun with a load click. Those kids were in for a slaughter.

"Ya gonna kill Mark? I mean, he's Vinny's nephew man…" Ren nervously twitched beside him, hands gripping the steering wheel in vice. He'd been with B street for the longest besides Trent; he was loyal to the brothers to the point of almost being family. Trent was Vincent's best friend, but even that wouldn't come between Trent and Mark now. What the kid had done was personal, disrespectful. He wasn't letting it go unpunished, regardless of his family.

"I don't give a shit." Ace snarled. "I'll gut that fucker if you don't." He directed the statement to Trent, glaring at him from the backseat. "Him and his cocky friend." Trent grinned as Ace bared his teeth, staring intently at the building ahead. Ren put the car in park and glanced at them.

"What friend?" Trent ignored him and opened his door, signaling their exit. Ren hesitantly followed and Ace smashed his door open, stepping out with an dangerous rage in his features. Two more men appeared as well, climbing from the back seat. Anonymous soldiers that Ren had brought along; names that meant nothing to Trent or Ace. Before they started towards the hospital, the men walked around the car until all four were standing around Trent. Taking deep breaths, he savored the power.

"Kill all of them."

* * *

><p>"…<em>.what condition my condition was innnnn…..yeah yeah oh yeahhh…." <em>Pete drummed his palms on the steering wheel, bobbing his head as he sang with his brother. Reaching forward, Dave turned the volume up until the speakers rattled the doors of the van. The stereo they'd installed was fancy and top notch, but the old Windstar's speakers couldn't take the newer sound and they crackled as the song blasted.

They'd made their obligatory, daily visit to their mother, showering since the hospital had no running water. The twins had mastered the two-minute shower, trying to avoid any longer stays at the house. No matter what they said, she always had something to bug them about. Their hair, their clothes, not having jobs…you name it and she would complain about it. But they'd ducked out without much problem today, hitting up Taco Bell before starting back to the hospital.

Dave burped and patted his stomach, then grinned as he lifted his butt from his chair and ripped a fart.

"DICK!" Pete howled, laughing with a mouth full of burrito. As he turned down the bare road back into the asylum, he tilted in his seat and forced a louder version as Dave cackled.

"You smell like fuckin' death, man!" The brothers were laughing hysterically, holding their noses and waving their hands in their faces. Then another song started and they cheered, holding up their food like a toast and singing with the lyrics.

"_but I got somethin' ya neeeed….oh yeah….AINT TALKIN' BOUT LOVE!...my love is rotten to the coooore….." _Their van bumbled down the uneven road as they approached. Just as the gate came into view, Dave unhooked his seatbelt, ready to jump out to take off the chain. He stopped, however, when he saw the entrance standing wide open. Instantly, they were both silent, turning down the music and coming to a stop to stare at the gate.

"….you think they just forgot?" Pete muttered, slowly looking over at his twin. Dave swallowed a mouthful of burrito and responded with a soft shake of his head.

"Nope."

"Fuck." They idled for a moment longer, leaning forward and squinting to try and see down the driveway.

"What's in the trunk?" Dave murmured. They both dropped their half-finished Taco Bell into the bag, sitting up straighter.

"The cutters….jumper cables….tire iron….Lori's underwear…." Dave smacked his twin and frowned.

"Seriously? Can ya focus for one sec?" Pete grimaced and shoved his brother.

"You asked and I answered. Fuck….asshole." Dave made a face and then looked back out the windshield. After a moment, he pointed into the trees.

"Park in there. We'll walk up just incase." The van eased forward and Dave unbuckled, jumping into the backseat and climbing over. Pete stared out the window as they slipped quietly into the dark foliage.

"What you thinkin'?" He asked. From the trunk, Dave pulled out the bolt cutters and tire iron. One in each hand, he looked at his brother in the rearview mirror.

"We pray they fuckin' forgot."

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><p>Mark could feel his heart beating in his chest. The hospital was eerily silent, not a footstep out of place. The sense of repeated history sent a shiver down his spine. As Craig crouched near the top of the stairs, Mark stood on the other side, watching his friend for a signal. If they hadn't seen their attackers coming, it was obvious they wouldn't have stood a chance. They had been foolishly unprepared, thinking their hiding spot would keep them safe.<p>

Craig tensed and held up his hand, using two fingers to point down the stairs. The small groan of the wooden steps alerted Mark to their visitors for the first time and he swallowed his fear. The threat was very real but it felt like a dream. This couldn't be happening to him. He ached for something, a nameless comfort.

_Billy. If you're fuckin' watching….save my ass._

Craig's shotgun sounded like a bomb, ringing in Mark's ears as it tore through the silence. It took less than a second for the men below to respond, more shots exploding from their guns. With a few long strides, Craig ran from the stairs and joined Mark by the doorway. Bullets landed in the ceiling and railings, splinters of wood and pieces of cement flying in the air as a fine mist of dust rose around them. After a moment, the shots ceased.

"You're fuckin' dead, Mark! Ya hear me? You're FUCKIN' DEAD!" Trent's voice thundered from below, echoing and amplified by the concrete walls. His fingers were damp on the thick shotgun, but anger made Mark's legs firm as he silently approached the stairs. With quick pumps, he blasted two shots over the railing and ducked away as their guns rang out.

"Save your bullets you idiots." Trent yelled. Footsteps clamored up the steps and Craig pulled Mark inside Ward 13 by the arm.

"Don't let 'em see you 'til the last second. Try and catch as many possible by surprise." He whispered while they both loaded two more shells into their guns. Nodding, Mark hid behind the wall beside the doorframe as Craig did the same on the right. And they waited.

They waited for the louder steps. They waited for the groan of the top stair. They waited until they could hear quiet breaths.

Then they struck. Mark unloaded two more shots from the shotgun, catching one man in the side and another in the middle of the chest. The first was whipped around by the impact and toppled over the railing of the stairs, shrieking and falling to the ground below. The second was dead before he hit the floor, crumpling limply against a wall.

Craig fired once, but no targets remained. Trent had stayed back, his two other men quickly following suit when they heard and witnessed the demise of their companions.

Mark tossed the spent shotgun and tore out his .45, clicking a round into the chamber as Craig pumped for the second shell.

"Ya gonna make me come get ya, Mark? Or are you hopin' I'll just waste my time shooting at ya from here?" A sweat started to form on Mark's forehead as he listened to Trent's taunting. The deaths of his men put an edge in his voice, but he teased nonetheless. To the drug dealer, Mark was nothing but a pest. His death was already decided in Trent's mind. And Mark couldn't help but feel cornered as he hid in the doorway. Sure, their odds were slightly better now, but Trent and Ace were experienced criminals. Against that, Craig and Mark were in rough shape.

"Come out and play Mark. Die facin' the bullets like your daddy." His stomach clenched and fear rippled through his body. What was he doing? Billy Darley had been a full-grown man and he'd died this very same way. It was foolish to think a teenager could survive what a man didn't.

"Doesn't a noble death sound nice? One right between the eyes?" Trent's voice was almost laughing at him. And Craig stared at his friend, gauging his reaction. "Ya know, I saw Darley before they buried 'im." Mark closed his eyes, fighting the urge to scream. His torso shook with anger, fear, and sadness. "Guy blew his face off."

"Don't." Craig whispered as Mark's eyes flew open. Rage. Pure rage burned in his cold blue irises.

"Billy Darley…reduced to meatloaf."

"FUCK YOU!" Mark flew out from behind the door and fired blindly towards the stairs. As he squeezed the trigger repeatedly, he squinted through his tears. A familiar face ducked away into cover, leaving no one atop the landing. His gun made a hollow clicking sound and Craig tugged him back to the shadows. Mark kept firing, but nothing came of the dropping hammer. His gun was empty.

"Come on. We gotta drop back." Craig whispered. His friend didn't meet his eyes and Mark was thankful, because he was silently crying. Wet trails covered his face from his furious tears.

"Did I strike a nerve?" Trent was calling to him again, with even more of a smirk in his voice. Footsteps started up the stairs and Craig flattened himself against the wall, facing the doorway. "Come out and we can settle this like men. Might even keep your face pretty for your mommy." Mark wiped his eyes with his arm, hissing angry breaths through his teeth. Craig motioned him with an open palm and this time he obeyed, watching his friend. After a few more footsteps and moments of silence, Trent spoke again.

"Not good enough? Fine." Then a whimper filled the stairwell. And Craig's face fell. "Tell 'em to come out, sweetheart." Trent cooed and the hammer of a gun clicked.

"Please." Tayrn let out a sob as she pleaded and Mark felt his face go pale. Somehow they'd found her. Craig's voice growled from the dark.

"You touch her and you're a dead man." Ace's laugh was suddenly present, lashing out from the unseen.

"Your girl's real hot. I'll have some fun with 'er." Tayrn whined as he chuckled. "Your hair smells like lemons, baby. Makes me fuckin' hard." Mark swallowed and Craig bared his teeth.

"Come on out, Mark." Trent called as Ace continued to murmur in a deep voice. Ready to take the bait, Craig was twitching, listening to his girl cry.

Then a loud clang sounded and Tayrn screamed.

"CRAIG!" Without a second thought, he whirled around the corner and raised his .45, firing once. Mark was out the door behind his friend, empty gun at his side as he stared and silence fell.

Craig's arm was still hovering in the air, gun steady as it was trained forward. Tayrn was to his right, arms around him as he held her with his free hand. Mark's jaw fell. Ace lay facedown on the concrete, a red pool of blood spreading around his head.

"Drop it." Craig snapped Mark from his trance and into action, grabbing Craig's half-loaded shotgun from where he'd dropped it on the floor. Trent stood at the top of the stairs, only a few feet from Ace's body, his gun pointed at Craig. To his right, a man was slumped on the steps. That's when Mark saw Dave.

The blond held a tire iron in his hand like a baseball bat, standing over the unconscious man. His face was blank with shock, staring at his weapon like he didn't know how it got there. Mark wanted to praise him, thank him, hell…hug him. But Pete suddenly appeared from the lower stairs, rushing forward to grab the gun dropped by Dave's victim. He clumsily took the handgun and pointed it at Trent, glancing at Craig to mimic his hold.

"He said drop it, asshole." It took a lot for Mark not to smile at Pete's serious tone. It was something he'd never witnessed above twice. Dave roused from his stupor and watched as Mark stepped into the space, speaking with a cold grin.

"You really wanna test Craig's aim?" He asked. With his barefoot, Mark shoved Ace's lifeless body on the floor and Trent glared at him, hissing exhales through his nostrils. Then he slowly lowered his arm, tossing the gun. Mark felt a wave of relief, but he didn't soften as he continued to address Trent.

"I told ya not to mess with me. I warned ya." Then he gestured to Ace and the man beneath Dave. "This is on you." Trent glared at him. "You're gonna have to live with that." Craig stared at Mark.

"What? You're lettin' him go?" Mark glanced at his friend and nodded.

"You shoot him now, we're no better than he is." Tayrn sniffed and appeared from under Craig's arm.

"But he tried to kill us, Mark." She was frowning with confusion, her toughness returning with growing anger.

"Which is why he's leavin' Boston." Mark stated. Trent squinted, but remained silent. "You have twenty-four hours, then I'm tellin' Vin, Drew, and Don all about this shit. Showin' 'em the bodies." Mark let a small smirk curl the corner of his mouth. "After that, you'll be the dead man if you show your face in this town again." Craig stared at Mark, but didn't argue.

Stepping over Ace's body, Mark walked right up to Trent, coming within inches of his face.

"Good enough?" He mocked. Trent flexed his jaw and glared into his eyes. Then he took a step towards the stairs. Craig tensed and raised his gun, causing the retreating man to stop mid-step. But Mark met his friend's gaze, and slowly Craig backed off.

Pete followed Trent all the way out to his car, making sure he left while the rest stood inside. Tayrn was wrapped around Craig and he was petting her back gently, staring out the front door as the car faded into the distance. Mark finally let his body relax and he softly clapped his friend on the shoulder.

"We gotta move those bodies. Put 'em somewhere til we know where to get rid of them." Craig nodded slightly. "Ya did a good job, Craig." Mark waited a moment, then started back into the hospital when Craig's voice stopped him.

"There's no goin' back from this Mark." With a quiet, long sigh. Mark nodded as he retreated into the darkness.

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><p><strong>Songs: Just Dropped In by Kenny Rogers and the First Editions, Ain't Talkin Bout Love by Van Halen.<strong>


	18. Chapter 17

**Welp, I can say this. This chapter is all for Sparkly Blue Eyes. You asked for an update my dear, and well….I haven't stopped typing since. HAHA. I need a life! But I love my readers so here you go. Enjoy my darlings. =)**

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><p>"What the hell just happened?" Pete said the words with a sigh, letting them stream from his lips. A few of the trees had started to lose their leaves even though the heat had lasted through September. But, as it is common in Boston, the seasons change like a streetlight. And autumn was rushing in.<p>

They all stood in silence inside the asylum, watching the brittle leaves scuttle over the asphalt. Mark returned from the darkness, tugging a black t-shirt over his head.

Tayrn sniffled and squeezed Craig's chest tighter, burying her face in his collarbone. Their lives had been shattered; all the normal drama of teenagers replaced with the horror of real danger, real death.

"What do we do with the guys upstairs?" Craig said softly, rubbing his hands over Tayrn's back. Mark covered his eyes with both hands and smeared them down his face. He'd been foolish; threatening a drug dealer was never going to go unpunished. This was his fault. His friends had depended on him and he'd let them fall in harm's way.

"There's plenty of room out back." Dave spoke up. "We could bury 'em, no one would know." Mark chewed his tongue before he gave a small shake of his head.

"We'll dig a hole, but we're burnin' 'em before we cover it." Craig nodded in agreement and put Tayrn's head in two hands, tilting her face to look into her eyes.

"You ok?" With a weak smile, she nodded.

"Good." He whispered the word and softly touched his lips to hers, smoothing his thumbs over her cheeks. Mark watched from the corner of his eye, holding back the instinct to hug her as well, encase her in his arms to ensure himself she was whole.

"Pete, Dave, lets get goin'." Craig said, looking up from her face. Mark followed his lead.

"I'll find something to dig with." He muttered. "We're gonna be doin' plenty of it." The boys slowly divided, Craig petting Tayrn's face several times before he wrenched her arms from his chest. As the three left, Craig passed Mark a face. A face that said several things. It was an acknowledgement between friends. Between men. When they were alone, Mark opened his arms and Tayrn folded inside them.

_Where she fits perfectly._

"Why didn't ya shoot 'em?" He murmured, locking his forearms behind her back. Tayrn let out a groan.

"I couldn't do it, Mark." Then she looked up at him. "I'm sorry, but I'm not a gun fighter or badass like you." She flattened her cheek to his chest. "And by the time I realized my mistake…" She never finished.

"You scared the fuck out of me." He whispered, touching her hair lightly. "Could feel my heart in my gut." Her hands ghosted over his back, fingers trailing over his spine. When she looked up into his face, his eyes drifted to her lips. "I love ya, T." And he always would. Didn't matter if she loved Craig until the day she died, Mark wouldn't feel this way for another woman for the rest of his life. He knew that the moment he'd kissed her. Tayrn was his unattainable. But he didn't care.

"I love ya too, Mark." She saw his eyes, she knew. Then with a smooth approach, she stood on her toes and pressed her lips to his cheek at the corner of his mouth. It took every atom of his being to hold back, to remain steady and not turn his head. But his hand found her jaw and he cradled it, remembering how it felt to pull her in. To keep her there, to savor her. Running a thumb over her bottom lip, he fought. "Mark." She whispered, eyes asking and warning in the same moment.

"Gotta find a shovel." He murmured. And he lowered his hands, letting her fingers slip over his ribs as he stepped away.

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><p>Climbing those steps felt like moving back in time. The old crime scene was born anew, splattered with fresh blood and riddled with hot holes. The ghosts had been given three companions to roam with them through the halls. And their cold presence could be felt as Pete, Dave, and Craig shuffled deeper into the asylum. A breeze moved through the building and carried the scent of autumn with it, chilling and crisp. The afternoon was quickly becoming dark, the clouds taking away the heat the sun had offered in the day.<p>

When they reached the top of the stairwell, Pete froze and watched as his brother and Craig circled the bodies. Craig crouched next to a short man lying on the steps.

"Aww shit." He muttered. "That's Ren." He stood and ran hand over his hair. "I've seen the guy at Mark's place when we were kids." Ren's face was smooth and calm, like he was taking a nap on the stairs. But a pool of blood had grown around his head, snaking from the matted hair on his scalp.

"I hit 'im hard." Dave whispered. Then he looked at Craig with wide, frightened eyes. "Is he dead? I didn't mean to kill 'im. Just put 'im down. Is he dead?" Craig crouched again, holding up a hand to quell Dave's growing panic. Pressing two fingers into Ren's throat, he waited for a moment then stood, shaking his head.

"Nah. He's gone." Dave's face fell and suddenly he stumbled back into a wall.

"Fuck." He grasped his short, buzzed hair, as if he was trying to tug it from his head. "FUCK!" Pete swallowed and watched his twin, for once, speechless. "What the fuck are we doin', Craig?" Dave was yelling, frantic as he leaned against the wall for support. "I'm only nineteen and I've killed someone. Someone WE KNEW!" Then he slid to the floor, his face turning red with impending tears. "Fuck." Pete climbed the remaining steps and crouched down to his brother, grasping his shoulders.

"He would have killed us, man. Ya did what ya had to do." Dave let out a yell, tears streaming down his face. The shock of the past hour was finally sinking in, scaring him.

"Easy for you to say, Pete. Ya didn't fuckin' KILL SOMEONE!" He cried. Craig stood over them, hands in his pockets.

"I know how ya feel." He murmured. "It's never easy." Dave snarled up at him.

"Oh sure, solider boy. It's so hard for ya to save the day." Craig frowned and leaned hand on the wall.

"Take a breath, Dave. You're freakin' out." Dave paused and stared up at him, then he gestured with both hands.

"THERE ARE BRAINS ON THE FUCKIN' FLOOR, CRAIG! YEAH I'M FREAKIN' OUT!" Pete grabbed his brother's shoulders.

"Hey hey!...we're alive." Tears flowed from Dave's eyes as he met the identical pair in front of him. "We're alive." Pete repeated. It was a reversal, the goofy brother pulling the serious one together. He clapped his hands on Dave's shoulders. "Yeah?"

"Ok." Dave eventually murmured. They nodded in unison, sharing strength. "Alright."

"Come on, let's move these chuckleheads." Craig said softly. "We gotta clean this up before it's dark."

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><p>The blaze was bright in the black night, pretty in all respects. Besides the smell. It was like a barbeque, a barbeque that no one can enjoy. No one wants to inhale the smell of this meat. But they all stood by the hole, huddled in the new sudden cold. It was mandatory to watch. An unspoken dare.<p>

"So what do we do now?" Pete whispered, arm wrapped around his brother's shoulders. Mark took a drag on a cigarette, drowning out the smell with smoke.

"I..." He sighed, letting the white air of his exhale flow into the dark. "…have to go home and see my uncles."

"I thought you said he had twenty-four hours." Craig said with a smirk. Tayrn snorted softly into his shirt, nestled under his right arm. Mark lifted a corner of his mouth, eyes fixated on the blaze.

"I lied."

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><p>"<em>Squirt, I don't know when Vin's gonna be home. Ya motha's gonna kill me if ya miss dinner." Donnie poked Mark in the ribs, making the small boy grin and squirm away. <em>

"_But uncle Drew said—" Donnie rolled his eyes._

"_Ya uncle's a fuckin' moron." The boy laughed and wrinkled his nose._

"_You said the f word uncle Don." Donnie snorted and poked Mark's belly again. _

"_Don't tell ya motha." His eyes drifted over his nephew's face and his smile faded. A red splotch was growing under the boy's right eye, small patches of the bruise turning purple. It was darker than it had been when the kid had showed up that afternoon. And it was taking a lot for Donnie to keep his anger in check. The boy was like a son to him and to Drew, growing up in front of their eyes since he'd moved to Boston two years ago. Vincent, however, didn't warm to the boy the same way. Mark saw the serious expression growing on his uncle's face and he quieted._

"_I can go home now, if ya want." The front door opened as soon as the words were out of his mouth, and Donnie sat up straight on the couch._

"_Don, ya home?" Vincent's voice was booming from the hallway, his shoes scuffling over the hardwood. _

"_Yeah." He called, glancing at his shoes before his brother turned into the room. When the tall, broad man entered, he stopped, frozen at the presence of the boy on the couch. _

"_Hi uncle Vin." Mark murmured, kicking his legs. Vincent frowned after a second of staring and pointed at him, glaring over at this brother. _

"_What happened?" Donnie took a breath and leaned over his knees, covering his face with his hands. _

"_I don't know. I came home to this…" He gestured to Mark and shook his head. "Fuckin' Drew told 'im to wait for ya." Vincent looked back to his nephew and stepped closer. _

"_What happened, Mark?" The boy avoided his uncle's gaze and Vincent suddenly softened. He didn't show tenderness often, but the bruise on the little boy's face moved him. So he stepped across the room and crouched to his height, looking closer at the purple growing on his face._

"_Who hit ya?" He asked softly. Mark's blue eyes moved slowly up his uncle's face, shying away from his stare. _

"_A boy at school pushed me into a locker." He mumbled. Vincent swallowed to suppress the strange paternal instinct rising in his throat. _

"_Why'd he do that?" Donnie leaned in, listening with the same concentrated stare. _

"_He called me a crook." Donnie hissed and lurched from the couch. _

"_Goddamn it." He growled. "Fuckin' kids." Vincent glared up at his brother._

"_Stop cussin'." He muttered then turned to Mark. "Go home to your mom. Tell 'er ya got hit with a basketball." Mark nodded and slid off the couch as Vincent stood. Donnie frowned and dropped his jaw, arms gesturing wide to his brother. _

"_That's it?" Vincent rolled his eyes and waved Donnie away._

"_Course not. Get me a phone." He growled. Mark stepped quietly towards the front door. Before he was out of earshot, he heard Vincent snarl one last phrase from the living room._

"_No one fucks with a Burnes." _

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><p>Mark knew Vincent would protect him. He knew his uncle would take his side. He was blood. That incident in elementary school stuck with Mark because Vincent had pulled out all the stops for his nephew. And the next day at school, the bully was suspended while the principle was nervously watching Mark walk to class.<p>

This wouldn't be as simple as a phone call, but Mark knew Vincent would have his back. But how would he explain the things he'd done? How do you tell your family you've been lying? But Mark didn't hold much stock in the truth. Not after seventeen years of having the truth hidden from him. He'd forgiven his family, they could forgive him.

He stepped up the front stoop of his house, glancing down the street where the Burnes brothers lived. It would take ten minutes. And his uncles would be livid, swarming the streets and hunting Trent like a dog. But the glow of the front porch light called him inside his home. Told him to take a rest, take a shower. He deserved a little calm before another storm. The lock gave easily once the key slid inside.

"Mom?" He called into the dark house, closing the door behind him. No one answered and he checked a wall clock. It was almost ten. Scout's shift would probably get out around eleven. And Chris was known to take his time coming home when his wife worked late. So Mark sighed and made his way to the kitchen, tugging open the fridge to pull out a beer. He glanced back down the hall again.

"Ma? Ya home?" The silence answered and he grinned, flicking off the cap with the opener on his keys. Taking a swig, he wandered towards the stairs, pulling himself up the railing. The heater kicked on, probably the first time that season, and a breeze of warm air hit him as he ascended. When he reached the top of the landing, Mark sighed, swallowing a gulp of the cold liquid in his mouth.

"Hi Mark."

Before he could react, hands appeared from the darkness and struck him in the chest. The last thing Mark saw was the ceiling as he fell, crashing down the stairs.

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><p><strong>Love to my faithful. More soon….hopefully. Excuse any mistakes, still proofreading.<br>**


	19. Chapter 18

**Finally got back on this one. My dear Sparkly, I apologize ahead of time. Hope you enjoy. =)**

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><p>It faded in from black, like the beginning of a movie. But it wasn't gentle. The darkness brought an eruption of pain. Blinding and ruthless, it rippled up his neck and spiked his brain like multiple stabs. Mark came to and winced, opening his mouth to scream.<p>

But it wouldn't open. His lips were pressed together, and he couldn't breathe. Mark was awake in a panic, thrashing with limbs of stone. The tape burned his wrists and he choked, realizing where he was. A chair. Wood, cold. He jolted, testing the strength of his bonds. There was nothing but black surrounding him. And he blinked wildly, trying to grapple with the blazing headache in his neck. It was curling up his spine and strangling his mind. Each breath through his nose wasn't enough, the lack of fresh air constricting his brain, flooding his right eye with agony.

"You awake princess?" He closed his eyes, anger drumming with his pounding skull. Trent. Mocking him from the dark. A light stung through his eyelids.

"Does that hurt?" Boots. Clunking on the floor. Cement. Mark could hear his surroundings. They were enveloped in cement. "It looks like it hurts." He was close, leaning into his face probably. Mark kept his eyes closed, hissing breaths from his nose. Then something tapped his forehead and splitting misery screamed from his skull. With the tape over his mouth, his scream was muffled, but it roared in his ears nonetheless.

"Thought so." Trent chuckled and a shuffle of denim moved around him. "Not so tough without your friends to cover your ass." His eyes flashed open, blue irises blazing as he stared ahead into the room. A single light shone down on his head, illuminating enough of the floor for him to see his surroundings.

"Don't worry, I won't play long." Ice washed over his left shoulder and Mark screamed again, feeling the blood seep through his shirt and dampen the material. His body throbbed with pain at the edge of Trent's knife.

"You almost finished my fun on those stairs, thought you were dead." He laughed lightly, dragging his heels over the floor. "It's funny…" Another flash of cold pain rippled over his other shoulder and Mark fought the sting of tears in his eyes. "…I thought you'd bleed blue." Then Trent's fist connected with the side of Mark's face. Blood poured into his mouth and Mark choked, swallowing the warm liquid with a grimace. "Ya tried to scare me out of my town." Trent hissed in his ear. "Like some kind of royal brat." He circled and loomed over Mark, casting a shadow in the light. Mark glared up at him, wishing he could strangle the life from Trent's eyes.

"I OWN THIS CITY!" He yelled, slapping Mark's face with an open palm. More blood, more throbbing. He could see spots in his eyes, black and white specks darting in his vision. Letting his head fall back, Mark gulped for air. "I've got ya uncles wrapped 'round my pinky and ya motha…." Trent crouched, breathing in face. "I could hit her, fuck her, kill her, and no one would do shit." His fingertips pressed into Mark's temple, shoving his head with a flick of his wrist. "Vin thinks I'm his best friend. This…city...is...mine."

Turning his head, with great difficulty, Mark gave Trent his best stare. It only earned him a laugh and Trent stood, smacking Mark's skull.

"Ya wanna say somethin' ta me, princess?" Another smack and Mark didn't turn away, he kept his gaze steady as Trent circled. "Ya wanna play?" Tugging on his taped wrists, Mark tried to lunge, rock his chair, anything. But Trent only snorted and smacked him again.

"I'm tempted to take off that tape, hear what you're thinkin'." When Mark hissed and fought again, Trent shrugged. "What the hell." He tore the duck tape from his lips quickly, pulling a small wince.

"You're dead." Mark snarled. Trent raised his eyebrows, crossing his arms with an amused grin.

"Oh really?" Continuing to strain on his bindings, Mark inhaled and spit, sending blood and saliva towards his captor. Trent took a step back and wringed his hands, then shot forward and grabbed Mark by the throat. Hissing into his face, Trent squeezed his captive's neck until Mark struggled to breathe. Then he slapped the tape back over his lips.

"I'm gonna let ya in on the little secret." Throwing back Mark's head, Trent stepped away. "I'm gonna kill ya." He circled and laughed. "That's obvious." Mark swallowed a scream, listening with dread as Trent continued. "But first, I'm gonna make you watch." Suddenly, Mark was still. Trent grinned and backed away into the shadow.

Then a blinding light flooded the room, pulling a muted groan from Mark's lips as he clamped his eyes closed. But he blinked rapidly, trying desperately to see in the light. When he could, his heart stopped. Trent let out a laugh, watching Mark's face slacken in horror.

"Ya should see ya face." He snickered. Trent lowered his knife and Mark thrashed wildly, screaming from behind the duck tape. His mother. She was bound with tape, pinned to the wall in another chair. A kitchen chair. He whimpered between screams. They were in their own basement and taped to their own furniture. He'd brought terror into his parent's home. And now his mother was at the end of Trent's blade, her head lulled to the side from unconsciousness.

"She was a hell cat in her day. But dear ol' Scout…" He squatted to look into her face. "…she ain't like she used ta be." With the tip of the knife, he pushed a piece of her hair from her forehead. "I used to think about fuckin' her. Caught her once with ya dad." Then he stopped, snorting softly. "I'm sorry, that's wrong. Chris ain't ya dad." Mark tugged at the tape on his wrists, wishing to interfere. "They'd go at it in the back of his truck. Ya know the one?" Mark dropped his head, closing his eyes to distance himself. Trent was going to humiliate his mother, kill her, and leave Mark in shambles. He wanted to break him.

"Then she went an' fucked Darley. Of all the people." Trent circled back towards him, lifting his jaw with the knife. "It's creepy how much ya look like the bastard. Can't believe no one said anything sooner." Mark clamped on his back teeth, hissing furious breaths from his nose. Then Trent bent over, breathing in his face. "Did ya know she miscarried?" A cold wash of horror flooded Mark's stomach and his eyes fell on his mother's limp form. Trent chuckled and tisked. "So many secrets in this family." He said softly. "She tried havin' Chris' baby when ya first moved here." Standing, he wandered away. "Guess Darley was a better…fit." A sound scuffled on the floor behind Mark and he saw Trent's gaze pass him.

"Uh oh. Daddy's wakin' up." Trent strode up behind Mark's chair and scraped it across the floor, turning so he could see. Chris was loose, unlike his mother, a dark stain spreading on his shoulder and leaking onto the floor in a large pool. "Had ta shoot 'im when he saw me standin' over ya." Trent whispered into his ear. Chris moaned, his legs stirring as he slowly roused. "But he'll last a little while longer." Mark was writhing with agony inside. Chris was pale, his stubble almost black against the grayish skin of his face. He looked like he was on death's doorstep, moving weakly on his side. "So which one dies first, Darley?" Trent purred into Mark's ear. "Who do ya love most?"

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><p>Chris' eyes fluttered open, weakly looking around the room. The last thing he remembered was walking in the front door. His mind was twisted up in searing agony. His hand shook as he reached for his shoulder, the source of the pain. It was slick with thick, warm…he shuddered as he realized blood covered his hand. Then he focused on the scene around him, the noise that rang in his ears.<p>

"Come on, Darley. Is it Mommy or Daddy?" Chris moaned as his mind caught up. He'd walked in the front door, arm around his wife's shoulders. They'd pulled up at the same time, smiling but tired from a long day at work. He was looking forward to a long shower and curling up next to Scout in bed. But when the door had opened…

His head swirled with pain and his fingers tingled as they slowly numbed. The blood flowing from his shoulder was draining the energy from his limbs. He forced his eyes open into the glaring bright light, and squinted until he could see.

"Poor Scout." Trent. His voice was familiar, but laced with a hatred Chris had never heard before. He was a friend of the Burnes family. What was happening?

"Ya love Chris over her, huh?" Chris found Mark's figure in a chair. He saw the duck-tape, the struggling hands, and the thrashing shoulders. His son was bound and furiously fighting. Then his eyes settled on the gun. The dark hole at the end of a barrel. Trent's face was blurred from behind the weapon.

"Mark…" His hands felt like lead, sliding across the floor. The boy's face was lined with muffled screams, lurching forward in an attempt to reach him. But the gun was only inches from his face; Chris knew what was coming.

"Shut up." Trent's shoe smashed into his face and he could barely breathe, his body convulsing with pain. He could hear tiny scuffles and his left eye opened, revealing the legs of Mark's chair, inching forward as he pushed it across the floor. He was screaming, furious and crying, tears running down his cheeks over the tape on his mouth. "Never liked ya, fuckin' whimp." Trent circled and lashed out with his foot again, catching Chris in the ribs. "But Mark fuckin' took ya in like a puppy." He said with a snarl. "Then ya married Scout." He snorted and crossed the room. Chris' face fell when he saw his wife. She was bound, like Mark, slumped limply in a chair. The strongest woman he knew, reduced to a sad doll. Trent grabbed her jaw with a hand and looked at her face. "Anybody home, Mommy?" He smacked her cheek a few times and Chris growled, fury and pain wracking him. His legs squirmed beneath him and he focused, trying to find his footing. Trent shrugged, dropping her head.

"Must have hit 'er harder than I thought." He said with a smirk. Turning around, he caught sight of Mark, still inching forward in his chair. Trent sighed. "Well, I'm bored." Trent raised his hand and Chris watched the barrel. He wouldn't let himself scream. That is not how he wanted to go. So he took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

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><p>The shot made Mark freeze, his eyes open in shock. Chris went still and his head settled on the floor, sickly silent after such a loud sound. Mark shook with fury but his breaths were choked with sobs. He couldn't process the scene in front of his eyes. Trent raised the gun and put it under his chin.<p>

"This... is your fault." He growled. Then he raised the gun again. Mark pulled, screamed, kicked, rocked, but was helpless as Trent shot his mother. She didn't react, but her body flopped, a spot of red spreading from her chest. He threw his weight forward and his chair finally gave way, tipping over at Trent's feet. His head hit the floor and his knees were pinned under the seat, the joints crying out in pain.

"Up ya go." Trent said with a smirk, flipping Mark's chair so he was facing the ceiling, flat on his back. The man's face was calm, almost happy as he circled around Mark's head. "Ya know…I always wished I could have been the one ta kill Darley." He said quietly, crouching down to tap Mark's forehead with a finger. "And here I am, gettin' my wish. All these years later." Mark tugged and struggled, but his despair finally won, just as Trent's gun flashed.

Then there was nothing.

No light. No sound.

But he was not alone. In the dark, he felt strength. And it led him back. Slowly, like a boat on the sea.

A small twitch in his fingers. A gasp of breath. Mark wheezed, reaching for the fire burning in his chest. But it wasn't fire; it was water. Not water. Blood.

"Mark." A hand, as bloody as his own, reaching out for him. He cried out, clawing at the cement below. Chris. His eyes were open, dimming, but alive. He gave him a small smile. "Mark." With furious kicks of his legs, Mark squirmed to his side. The chair was gone, magically disposed of. And the floor was red. How long had he been lying there? Where was Trent? It didn't matter. Chris' hand was cold as he grasped Mark's.

"Dad." His voice was like sandpaper, hardly understandable. Just watching Chris struggle for air brought tears to his eyes, stinging his cheeks. "I'm sorry." He whimpered, dropping his head to the floor. It was too heavy to hold up. Everything was too heavy. But Chris forced a smile through a grimace of pain.

"I love you." Then he blinked, tears dripping to the blood below. "Scout." He stuttered. Mark rolled his head, looking across the room at his mother's figure. She'd been dropped to the floor, also taken from her chair. Chris' tears flowed as he struggled with the image. The woman he loved, still as death. And he couldn't save her. Mark squeezed his father's hand and watched as he faded.

* * *

><p>They weren't the wedding type. She'd banned anything that even resembled a wedding from the room. The judge had been perplexed by their wardrobe; Scout had worn a red cocktail dress, cut just above her knee, black pumps, and her hair had been curled, pulled up into a loose bun. Chris hadn't been able to breathe when he saw her. She took the air straight from his lungs.<p>

According to her demands, Chris had worn his jeans and leather jacket. Hair tossed about after a long day at work, he'd barely been able to scrub the oil from his hands before they'd charged into city hall. But here he was, standing across from the most beautiful woman on earth and marrying her.

"Can I take off my coat now?" Mark whispered, quite loudly, into his ear. Chris smiled, squeezing the child around the shoulders.

"Not yet, big guy." Scout was beaming. He smiled as he remembered her face. The happiest moment of his life. He held on to it, peacefully closing his eyes.

* * *

><p>"I'm sorry, Dad." Mark begged for forgiveness as Chris slipped away. Only when the man's hand released his, did he stop whispering the words. Then he closed his eyes, crying silently onto the cement.<p>

_I always wished I could have been the one ta kill Darley. _

Trent's voice echoed like he'd reappeared in the room. Mark opened his eyes, hearing the taunts once again.

_This is your fault. _

His body surged with anger, his legs bending slowly beneath him.

_So which one dies first, Darley?_

With a yell, he pushed through the pain in his chest, using his elbows to bring himself to his knees.

_Who do ya love most? _

He screamed in agony, crawling over the floor with a snarl on his lips. "Mom." He ground out, sliding towards her. "Mom." It seemed like she lie miles away. Yet he fought for every inch. When he reached her, he ran his hands over her face.

"Wake up." He hissed. But she remained placid.

_Poor Scout. Ya love Chris over her, huh? _

"Mom." He grunted, lurching for the stairs. "I'll be back." He whispered. To himself, maybe. But he muttered the phrase until he reached the kitchen. Mark used every once of his strength, pulling himself up on the counter.

Then he dialed.

"_911 please state your emergency."_

* * *

><p><strong>*flinches* Sorry. I'm sorry.<br>As always, love to my faithfuls. Forgive any errors. **_  
><em>


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